


Good Enough

by Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90), octobergryphon, QueenVee1



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve, Blow Jobs, F/M, Fingering, Friends to Lovers, Knives, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Poly, Polyamory, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Stucky - Freeform, Swearing, Threesome, UST, bring your aloe, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 23:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 49,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/pseuds/Hopeless--Geek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/octobergryphon/pseuds/octobergryphon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenVee1/pseuds/QueenVee1
Summary: Set roughly between the events of Civil War and Infinity War (with a little time manipulation).Under the watchful eyes of Shuri and a team of Wakandan scientists, Bucky Barnes goes back into cryostasis in the hopes they are able to erase what Hydra and Zolo created in his mind. Steve Rogers reaches out to Natasha Romanoff, needing her friendship. While they grow closer, feelings and desires that had been ignored begin to become more pressing.When Bucky wakes up and begins to work through his past trauma and memories, things shift between the three of them. As more feelings are uncovered and revealed, the three must navigate their new reality.Made for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018!





	1. Can't Say No

**Author's Note:**

> We are so excited to share with you our work for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018! Your authors are Vicky (QueenVee1) & Liz (Octobergryphon) and your artist is Hope (Hopeless--geek)!
> 
> This was such a fun story to write and the art is gorgeous! We hope you like everything!! Go check out the rest of the collection and the amazing art & stories the participants created!
> 
> [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr.
> 
>   
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bucky goes into cryostasis, Steve calls Natasha to help him through the rough times.

 

_Under your spell again._  
_I can't say no to you._  
_Crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hand._  
_I can't say no to you._  
_Shouldn't let you torture me so sweetly._  
_Now I can't let go of this dream._  
_I can't breathe but I feel,_  
_Good enough._  
_I feel good enough for you._

 

“You look like shit, Steve,” Bucky said, his voice raspy with sleep and overuse. He was huddled around his coffee, and _goddamn_ if it wasn’t the best fucking coffee he’d ever had. His fingers drummed against the side of the mug, eyes cast down at the black liquid. He’d talked more in the past week than he had in the past two years in Europe and hearing the sound of his own voice still made him pause.

“Thanks, Buck. I feel like shit,” Steve grumbled in return, arms crossed over his chest, his back to Bucky. He looked out the window at Wakanda as the color of the mist brightened with the sunrise. They said that the setting sun was more beautiful here than anywhere else, but Steve was partial to the sunrise. It meant something new, something brighter on the horizon. After the past week they’d had, he needed something brighter, some semblance of hope.

His clothes matched Bucky’s, the lightweight pants and tank top from the infirmary making all their bruises and cuts stand out, every injury a reminder of what they’d just been through. They’d been released from the medical ward, their physical wounds were healing quickly, but it wasn’t the _physical_ pain that made Steve’s mood dour.

Grey eyes flicking up from Steve’s half eaten jello - even in the technologically advanced country of Wakanda, jello was still just jello - Bucky looked up at Steve’s back. From the way his best friend was holding himself, he was still in pain despite what he’d told the doctors. Steve’d been hit with blasters, and fists, knees and elbows, not to mention his own shield. Bucky vaguely remembered the idiot even grabbing a fucking _helicopter_ , like he could stop it with his own hands.

Bucky chose to ignore the fact that Steve had almost succeeded with that particular move, not wanting to dwell on the things he remembered from after he’d been triggered. Steve’s hand kept drifting to his right bicep and rubbing at it. Dark bruises starting to mottle into greens and purples dotted Steve’s back and shoulders. There were still cuts that hadn’t healed like a path of destruction on his skin. Either Steve was more hurt than he let on, or he’d been running low on fuel for way too long and had gotten used to the lying.

Bucky was willing to bet both. Steve’d done it during the war with the Commandos, too. He was always giving them extras from his rations, taking nothing when they’d managed to scrounge in the wilderness despite the fact that Steve needed more than any of them to keep moving.

They were alone for the first time since they’d gotten to Wakanda, and though he’d never say it outloud, Steve had needed the time by himself to reconcile the grief in his chest. The family he’d spent the last few years building had been fractured, some of it by his own hand. He felt the weight of his choices, even though he would do it over again if he had to. “What did the doctor say, Buck?” Steve asked, his voice low, the sound barely moving in the air between them.

“Few bruised ribs. Couple small fractures. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know,” Bucky said, finishing what was in his mug as Steve turned around to look at him, blue eyes steady and gaze expectant. “Didn’t tell me anything we don’t already know. Hydra buried things in me. Deep. I’m like a bomb, waiting to go off.”

Steve could hear the flat affect in Bucky’s voice, distancing himself from the things he was saying. It hurt, seeing Bucky question himself. He’d always been so confident growing up, so sure and strong. Watching the doubt flash across Bucky’s face made Steve feel useless, followed quickly by anger that Hydra still had a hold on him, even now, after they’d been destroyed. “Did they have any ideas?”

“Not really something they’ve seen before so it’s all experimental,” Bucky answered, a small self-deprecating smirk turning his lips, “kind of like us.” When his gaze swung up to look at Steve, the heavy expression in those blue eyes sobered the amusement he’d spoken with. Bucky knew Steve wasn’t ready to accept his decision, and it was written cleary on the other man’s face.

Steve looked down at his feet, ashamed of the wave of selfish petulance that rose within him. He was acting like an asshole, especially after all the choices that had already been taken from Bucky’s control, and he didn’t have the right to make Bucky second guess his decision. For the first time in a while, Bucky was himself, and Steve wasn’t ready to give up his best friend again. Not yet.

“T’Challa’s sister and the doctors… they seem hopeful. I just don’t… _this_ isn’t necessary,” Steve huffed. He crossed the floor, standing closer to Bucky, shoulders hunched near his ears and eyes cast down to where Bucky sat. “I… just got you back.” His voice sounded like a child, even to himself, but the thought of being pulled away from Bucky again filled him with a grief so thick he couldn’t think past it.

“I know,” Bucky said, blinking sadly at Steve, seeing the pain in his friend’s eyes, “but I need to know I’m safe. If I hurt someone, or if I hurt _you_ again…” He trailed off, letting his worst thought hang in the air between them. Knowing that every blemish and bruise on Steve’s body could be traced back to _him_ filled Bucky with regret and contrition. This was all because of him.

Steve sighed, taking a step closer, arm lifting to rest on Bucky’s shoulder before he thought better of it, letting it fall back to his side. “You didn’t hurt me, Buck. It wasn’t you.”

“We’ve had this argument before, punk.” Bucky’s voice was warm, his expression soft as he smiled up at Steve. “I need to do this. And I need you to let me do it.”

Steve’s face twisted into a frown, seeing the resigned acceptance in Bucky’s face, and he drew a deep breath before shoving himself in the chair next to his best friend. Bucky smelled clean, and like the coffee he’d been drinking. Minus the cuts and scrapes from the fighting and the fact that he wasn’t wearing his prosthetic, he looked good. He looked _healthy_. Like he’d never fallen from the train. Like he hadn’t been a weapon of Hydra. The dark circles under his eyes were gone and his skin was golden, like he’d spent time in the sun. This was the Bucky he remembered, if just a little more battleworn and sharp around the edges. His eyes couldn’t drink enough. Parched. “Whatever you need. I’ll do whatever I can to help you, you know that.”

Bucky laughed lightly, the sound rusty and rumbling in his chest. “You know, I used to be the one helping you all the time. Kind of got used to it. Still feels weird that I’m not bailing _you_ out of fights. Not sure I like this whole ‘you saving me’ thing. Suppose I should get used to it since you keep doing it.”

Steve was quiet, his hands clenching around his forgotten cup of coffee, long fingers curled tight enough that his knuckles had gone white. “Dunno why you think I’d do anything else. Even if I fucked everything up.”

“You didn’t fuck everything up,” Bucky said, a frown turning his lips.

Blue eyes rolled up to look at Bucky, resignation and pain in his expression. “We were fighting my team. And Tony -”

“You remember that night in Somme?” Bucky could see Steve’s sharp look in his direction at the interruption, but Bucky kept his eyes down, looking at the table as he clawed through the memory. “Morita and Dum-Dum wanted to advance, but you knew better. You _knew_ there was no way we’d come out the other side alive. You ended up taking Dum’s gun and he took a swing at you.”

Bucky looked up when Steve laughed, head shaking softly, watching the memory spark in the soldier’s eyes. “I haven’t thought of that night in a long time.”

“The next day, we had to detour into a field to avoid walking over the bodies of other units who didn’t have someone like you keeping them safe. You were right, Dum was wrong, but we still had each other’s backs. Families fight, Steve. You fought for me. I’m just trying to make the fight worth it.”

Eyebrows knitting together in frustration, Steve tried to keep his voice even. “Of course you’re worth it,” he said, emotions bristling. He was thrilled that Bucky’s memories were coming back slowly, that he could remember something better than the horror that Hydra gifted him with, but he _hated_ that he kept acting like he wasn’t worth the effort. As if Steve wouldn’t have gone through hell and back _again_ if he had to. “Every single broken bone, and cut, and hit is worth it. Every. Time.”

Bucky wanted to grab Steve’s hand, make him understand how much his words and actions meant, but he left his fingers wrapped around the warm empty mug, looking down at the wooden table top. This was a debt he couldn’t repay, an overwhelming mountain of guilt that seemed so impassable that he had to stop thinking about it, or he’d start feeling the crushing weight on his chest.

Whatever he’d done since his fall, whatever disgusting, deplorable thing his hands had wrought, hearing Steve insist he was worth all the pain filled him with a crowd of feelings he couldn’t properly express.

“Are you going to be okay without me?” It seemed like such a ridiculous question, but it fell from Bucky’s lips regardless. Steve had survived for years without him, had _thrived_ , but checking to make sure Steve was aright was like second nature to Bucky, an unconscious reflex. He’d grown up caring about his best friend’s wellbeing while feeling apathetic to his own, and not matter what Hydra had shoved in him, that was one thing they hadn’t been able to wipe.

“I’m never alright without you,” Steve said after a quiet moment, watching as Bucky looked up at him and saw the truth of it in his eyes. There was a weight in the air, like something was holding its breath and waiting for an acknowledgment. Staring into the storm grey gaze he’d grown up memorizing, Steve could do little to keep the honest emotion from his face.

James Buchanan Barnes made Steven Grant Rogers a better friend. A better person. A better _man_. He might have survived the last few years without him, but Steve’d felt his loss every second, only focusing on getting through the next day, never letting the pain or ache show. But around the man who knew him better than anyone else, hiding wasn’t an option.

“I need to do this, Steve,” Bucky said, swallowing past the lump in his throat as he tore his gaze away from Steve’s face and the naked emotion that threatened to pull him under.

“I know.” Steve took in a deep breath, hesitating for a second before he reached out and set his hand on Bucky’s forearm, squeezing softly, prepared for Bucky to flinch and pull his arm away. When he didn’t, Steve risked a glance up, noting the slight widening of Bucky’s eyes but that he hadn’t moved. “I know. How soon?”

Bucky continued to look at Steve, a flood of contradictory reactions fighting for control. It had been so long since someone had touched him softly, since he’d gotten anything besides pain and punishment. He fought the immediate uncomfortableness, the fear that a fist was to follow, assuring himself that Steve would never hurt him, that Steve was the _only_ one who he would never have to worry about hurting him. He swallowed past his speeding heartbeat, doing his best to appear calm but being anything but. “As soon as possible.”

“Sooner you go under, quicker you come out, right?” His voice was light but Steve felt the conversation like a weight on his chest. He needed to support Bucky, regardless of how it made _him_ feel, and doing anything less wasn’t an option.

Bucky nodded, looking down at Steve’s hand resting on his arm, feeling the warm pads of the blond’s fingers on his skin. When Steve pulled away, he felt the loss of heat like a slap in the face, already feeling like he was being plunged into the ice. “Will you still be here when I get out?”

“I promise,” Steve said, unable to keep from reaching out again and squeezing Bucky’s shoulder, leaning into the other man, staring into those grey eyes, “I’m going to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes.”

Steve was so close, just a few inches away, and Bucky breathed him in, pushing past the sterility of the infirmary and focusing on what he knew his best friend smelled like. Like summer, and graphite, and _home_. For the first time in forever, Bucky felt _safe_. “Good.”

 

Steve stared at the phone in his hand, willing the right words to appear on the screen. He wasn’t sure why he was struggling this much with typing a simple text message. He’d been checking in on Sam, Wanda, and Scott regularly over the previous few weeks, making sure they were alright. Clint was out of reach, which was more than understandable. He had a family to worry about, after all.

So _why_ was a message to Natasha so much harder? He had absolutely no worry that she’d been taking care of herself; she was one of the most resourceful people he’d ever met. She was always ready, always three steps ahead of everyone else. Working at her side before S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen was one of the most satisfying partnership he’d ever had, save one.

They’d spent so much time together that he couldn’t understand why he was at a loss for words. She was dry, but funny. Unyielding, but soft when she wanted to be. After years of covers, he’d started to think he knew the real Natasha Romanoff, the one not many people got to see. And he _valued_ her, not just as a partner, but as a _friend_.

Since Bucky had gone into cryo, he’d felt aimless. Shuri and her people were working tirelessly to tear down what Hydra had built in his best friend’s head, and Steve trusted them completely, but he also felt a deep well of _uselessness_.

He couldn’t be Captain America anymore. He couldn’t help Bucky. He couldn’t go home. He felt like one of those wandering samurai in the movies Barton had made him watch. Like a boat without wind. Lost on a sea of uncertainty. Though he felt welcome in Wakanda - everyone had gone out of their way to make him as comfortable as he could be - Steve needed something they couldn’t give him.

Steve Rogers needed his other best friend.

Fingers moved over the screen, each press deliberate. He worried about what to say, what _not_ to say, not wanting to put too much information but wanting to give _enough_. He didn’t want it obvious should anyone intercept it, but enough that she would know what he meant.

 

**If you’re looking for warmer weather, our friend says you can use his timeshare**

Belatedly, he wondered if the number she’d given him still worked. He knew it was a burner phone, probably just one of many she had, but Steve really hoped the message found its proper destination.

A few hours later, Steve felt a vibration in his pocket and stopped his run, breathing heavy, the air weighted with humidity. He spent a lot of time running these days, working his body to exhaustion, one more way he coped with the feelings of disuse. No matter how hard or how fast he ran, though, falling asleep at night seemed to be a struggle he couldn’t overcome.

One side of Steve’s mouth lifted as he read the words on the screen, hearing her voice in his ear. Raspy, and deep, and amused.

 

**Dork.**

**Cleaning now. Be there soon.**

It had been months, really, since they’d spent any real time together. Not since Lagos. Not since Peggy’s funeral. Not since Natasha had taken the shot over his shoulder and stopped T’Challa to let them escape.

Natasha had been his best friend in the future, in the time since he’d been brought back from the arctic. Steve didn’t enjoy feeling like he didn’t know who she was anymore. He’d thought he knew who she was in that borrowed truck, when he’d sat across from her in Sam’s guest room, both of them covered in ancient Hydra dust and feeling betrayed. She’d answered his text in her own short way, knowing it was enough. He hadn’t asked where she was, and he knew she couldn’t volunteer it. It didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was that she was _here_.

He watched a plane appear through the barrier, and had to keep himself from pushing onto his toes in a mixture of nerves and excitement as it touched down. He waited, watching the rear doors lower. Steve took a deep breath as he started toward her, noting her new blonde hair color and the light duffle bag at her feet. She was wearing a wrapped skirt in hues of blue, the tank top and sandals giving all appearances that she was headed for a vacation. He knew better than to assume she was anticipating any kind of relaxation.

Natasha watched Steve climb up the bay doors, an eyebrow raising at him when he came to stand in front of her, his blue eyes bright, a smile on his lips. She waited until the Wakandan pilot had passed them and headed inside before she moved, hand lifting to scratch along his jaw and the hair that was beginning to cover it.“Didn’t know you were able to grow one of these, Rogers.”

“Good to know I can still surprise you, Romanoff.” It was nothing to close the distance and wrap his arms around her shoulders, squeezing softly. When she returned the hug, arms circling his waist, Steve felt something loosen in his chest. It’d taken him a while to understand that home didn’t have to be a place, but that it could be a person. He’d always felt that with Bucky, but standing there in the steamy Wakandan heat, breathing in the clean smell of Natasha’s shampoo, he felt it in her, too.

When Steve took a step back, Natasha’s lips quirked up ruefully. She couldn’t help but note how tired he looked, the restless way he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. If she didn’t know better, it looked like he was nervous. “You sure T’Challa’s alright with me being here? Last time I saw him I shot him with one of my stingers.”

Steve bent and grabbed her bag, nodding over his shoulder and toward the hanger. “He took me and Bucky in, so I think he got over it.”

“Good,” Natasha said, following him into the sunlight, eyes sweeping over everything, alert and taking it all in, “glad this wasn’t an elaborate scheme to lure me here under false pretenses.”

“Wouldn’t dream of getting one over on you, Nat,” Steve said, eyes swinging to pin hers as he smiled. She fell into step beside him, matching his stride despite how much smaller she was. It still amazed him how much power she held in such a diminutive body. He’d seen her fight, he knew what she was capable of, but looking at her, dressed like she was ready for the beach, it was hard to reconcile the violence she hid inside.

Natasha kept her eyes open, looking at every face they passed, seeing the touches of modernity mixed with Wakandan culture. She couldn’t help but muse how Stark would lose his mind here, remembering quickly that she’d been out of contact with everyone except Clint for months. She was lonely, she’d realized with a start, strolling down an alley in Kiev three days before Steve had texted. It’d been a matter of necessity, the walls and shields she’d had in place, keeping everyone at a distance. Natasha knew she’d been compromised when it came to Clint and his family, but it’d been a shock to realize she’d somehow let Steve in, that he’d found a way through her carefully built defenses.

Steve felt her go silent at his right, watched her emerald gaze move from place to place, registering entrances and exits, looking for areas of escape. He understood her wariness, always planning for the worst case scenario. Even if he’d grown comfortable here in the past few weeks, he found himself looking for avenues of escape himself, though they had little to do with any threats to his safety.

He knew that Shuri was just being polite when he asked for an update every day. The young woman was courteous, answering his questions, even the ones he’d already asked over and over. When Steve’d informed her that a friend would be joining him, Shuri had been ecstatic, blurting out that it’d be good for him to have ‘someone else to… talk to.’

“T’Challa’s invited us to a dinner tonight, but we’ve got the rest of the afternoon to get you settled in.”

Natasha glanced over at Steve, seeing the small smile on his lips as he led her further into what appeared to be the royal palace. “I take it they don’t have any Red Roof Inns here?”

“You know, now that you mention it…” When he looked over at her, Steve found the grin on his face widening at the amused expression on hers. “You’ll be staying with me. I was told in no uncertain terms that you’re my responsibility and any damage you cause will come out of my security deposit.”

“How gallant of you,” Natasha hummed, looking out the window they passed, finding herself caught in the glittering windows and busy roads that made up the capital city. “Your bed big enough for the both of us?”

Steve’s face swung toward Natasha at her question, mouth falling open slightly. When he saw the smirk on her lips and the spark in her green eyes, he couldn’t help the laugh that huffed out. He’d missed her sense of humor. “We’ve been offered the visiting diplomat quarters. We’ve got our own bedrooms, a living room, kitchen…”

“Does it come with a guest pass to the gym and swimming pool?”

“Why, you looking for some action?”

Natasha managed to keep the surprise off her face when she looked over at him, feeling her chest tighten with affection as she noted the lightness that had found its way into his eyes. If he was able to joke with her, it meant he was doing better than she thought he’d be. “Just being nosy,” she rasped, lips twitching upward.

She reached out, wrapping her arm around his and fitting against his side. “Show me everything.”

 

“Do they always have that much food?”

Steve laughed as they made their way down the hallway toward their rooms, moving slower himself due to the meal they’d just had. “I think they rolled out the red carpet for you.”

“Red’s always been my color,” Natasha mused, smiling softly.

“We have an open invitation but I normally eat by myself. They’ve already gone to so much trouble for us that I feel guilty taking anything else.”

“You are the quintessential gentleman. Ma Rogers must have been quite the woman to make you turn out so polite.” When Steve went quiet at her side, Natasha wondered if she shouldn’t have said anything. He’d spoken about his mother in the past, during long mission flights, when there was nothing to do but talk or sleep, but it’d always been at his mention.

“It was just as much Buck’s Ma as it was mine,” Steve said, a sad smile on his face as he looked up at the retinal scanner, the door opening seconds later. “After my father died, Bucky’s mom Winifred helped a lot. Ma’s hours at the hospital were long and Freddie was always there to make sure I got a hot meal and had a place to stay until Ma got home. Not sure how Ma would have made it through without her. Or how I would have made it after Ma passed.”

Natasha followed Steve, noticing the way his shoulders hunched slightly, his arm reaching up to brush his hair away from his forehead. It was one of the first tics she’d ever seen in Steve; whenever he got nervous, or uncomfortable, or when he was pushing past emotions, his arm would raise and he’d push his blond hair back. “Have you gone back to visit?”

Steve wandered toward the living area, taking a seat on the couch, stretching his arm across the back as he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You mean before everything?” At her nod, he shook his head. “Too many memories, too few reasons. I don’t know if I’d even recognize it anymore.”

“But it’s home, right?” Natasha slipped onto the sofa beside him, feeling the warmth of his arm at her back. She pulled her legs under her body, looking at him with a genuine look of interest.

He took a moment, looking down at the floor before he answered, trying to get his thoughts in order. “It _was_ home,” he offered, gaze flicking up toward her, seeing the look of understanding in her emerald eyes, “but I don’t think it is anymore.”

Natasha nodded knowingly, trying to remember the last time she felt like anything had been _home_ , wondering if she’d _ever_ felt that connection with a place. “When all that’s left is ghosts,” she started, her voice fading off as memories of her own flashed to mind.

Steve looked at her, the haze of the past taking over Natasha’s expression, able to see the microexpressions of emotion he’d come to recognize. “How are you?”

Though her eyes didn’t widen, Natasha’s gaze slid to Steve, seeing the knowing look in his eyes, realizing how easily he’d read her. The fact that he knew her so well was both a comfort and a concern. Pushing the worry aside, she did her best to stay here in the present with him instead of in her past where the knowledge of her feelings had been used as a weapon. “I feel like I should be asking you that question. You didn’t come out too great from the whole Accords situation.”

A small laugh sounded as Steve nodded his head, eyebrows lifting when he couldn’t find a fault in her statement. “I guess things aren’t looking to favorably on me back there?”

“Captain America is a fugitive of the country he swore to protect, the Avengers are broken, and the higher ups are wanting someone to blame. None of us are shining examples right now.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into all this,” Steve said, glancing up at her, seeing the disbelief tint her eyes. “You were trying to build something at home -”

“Hey,” Natasha said, leaning toward him, resting a hand on his knee. “If I had any doubt about what I did, I’d tell you. I don’t have any doubts, Steve, not about following you.”

The weight of Natasha’s words pressed down on Steve, knowing that the assassin-turned-spy-turned-agent was hesitant to give her allegiance to anyone after everything she’d been through. Knowing that she had given it to him and had no regrets held more meaning than she could imagine.

Steve reached out and laid his hand over hers, noticing for the first time how much smaller they were than his. When she flipped her hand, he wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing, not risking a glance up at her as he felt the warmth of her skin on his.

“They put him back under. He _asked_ to be. Shuri and the rest of the doctors are trying to pull out what Hydra put there, so he can’t be triggered like he was before.”

The grief in Steve’s voice was like a living thing, full of sadness and worry, and Natasha knew immediately why he’d asked her to be here with him. That Steve’d called for _her_ , instead of Sam or Wanda, made her look at this visit in a new light. Steve needed a friend, he needed someone who understood what he and Barnes were going through. He needed _her_.

If the fact that Steve Rogers wanted her at his side filled her with any kind of satisfaction, Natasha reasoned it was because feeling wanted was still a new and novel idea for her to accept.

“He doesn’t think all this is worth it,” Steve continued, “that _he’s_ not worth it.” When he looked up at Natasha, knowing she was aware of what he meant was comforting, and his fingers tightened reflexively. “All he can think about is what he did.”

Natasha looked down at their twined hands, able to understand intimately what Barnes was feeling. “It gets easier,” she said, voice soft, not needing to hide behind her mask of indifference. Not here. Not with Steve. “The more good you do, the less haunted you feel.”

“It was done _to_ him,” Steve reasoned, “it wasn’t him.”

“But that’s a harder thing to swallow, isn’t it?” When she looked up at Steve, she could tell it was something he hadn’t thought of yet. “Barnes was a soldier. He fought at the side of Captain America. That he could be taken, wiped, made into something else, made into a weapon against his will… you feel angry. Angry that you weren’t stronger, that you didn’t fight them harder. It’s a vicious cycle. Replaying everything over in your mind, wishing you had done more.”

Steve had heard whispers of what life was like for Natasha before she’d been recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D., but it was clear that this was more than just what she’d done for the KGB. This went deeper, her understanding of what Bucky had felt, how he’d reacted, and Steve had a moment to wonder what she meant before it clicked in his mind. “Clint had the same thing, with Loki.”

Natasha looked up at Steve, almost correcting him, wondering what he would say if he knew everything, if she told him _everything_. It was there, the words on her tongue, but as she stared at him - his eyes warm, his lips parted as he breathed, the warmth of his hand held in hers - she couldn’t do it. “Yeah, just like Clint,” she lied, eyes darting away.

Head cocking to the side, watching her avoid his eyes, Steve could tell she’d been thinking about something else, but he couldn’t bring himself to push, not when she was already giving him so much. “It wasn’t his fault, either.”

“Pretty words that taste like ash when you’ve been through it,” Natasha said, one shoulder lifting and dropping softly. “ _Близо́к локото́к, да не уку́сишь_ ”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together as a look of concentration came over his face. “Was that something about an elbow?”

Natasha blinked at him, surprise coloring her features. “You’ve been learning Russian?”

Pink heating his cheeks, it was Steve’s turn to shrug his shoulders. “Figured I should learn a few words so I can tell when you’re cursing at me.”

Her laugh was soft, fingers untwining with his, instead tracing the lines on his palm as she tamped down the affection that she knew had filled her eyes. “Yeah, it was something about an elbow. Roughly, it means ‘your elbow is close, but you can’t bite it,’ which is the Russian way of saying ‘it’s easier than it sounds.’”

“Ah,” Steve said with a nod, shooting her a bashful expression. “I suppose that’s true.” When they’d sat there in silence for several moments, her fingernail brushing over his palm forcing goosebumps to break up and down his arms, he looked up at her. “I’m really glad you’re here, Nat.”

The genuine honesty in Steve’s eyes was almost enough to make her take a step back from the conversation, worried she was giving too much away, letting herself become too bare. The longer he held her gaze, though, the easier it was to accept the expression, matching it with one of her own. “I’m glad you called.”

 

Nights were the hardest. Though there was still motion outside his window, the quiet of the royal palace always seemed deafening to Steve. He couldn’t remember the last real _good_ night of sleep he’d had. Before Sokovia, maybe. It was a problem he’d never been able to shake. Before the serum, he’d kept himself awake coughing, always sick, never knowing a peaceful, healthy night. After the serum, he’d always been on the move, preparing for the next mission, readying himself for the next fight.

It was too quiet. When staring up at the ceiling did nothing, Steve gave up on sleep altogether, pulling his sketch pad and pencils from his bedside table. He wasn’t surprised when he saw a light shining from the slightly-ajar door of Natasha’s bedroom. Despite trusting T’Challa and his people, Natasha had always had a hard time relaxing in a new place. The only time he’d ever seen her _truly_ at ease was at Clint’s family farm.

Steve padded barefoot toward her door, pausing outside to listen for voices. He didn’t want to interrupt her if she was on the phone. When he heard nothing, he raised his arm and hit his knuckles lightly on the door. “Nat? You awake?”

“If I was, would you expect a response?” When Steve stuck his head in the door, eyes sweeping around the room before they landed on her, Natasha gave him a small turn of her lips. When he pushed into the room, her eyes flicked down to the soft-looking linen sleep pants and tank top before immediately refocusing on his face. “Trouble sleeping?”

Natasha sat in the window, a vibrant afghan covering her legs and a well-worn book on her lap, the twinkling lights of the Wakandan capital city framed around her. Steve’s mind supplied the adjective ‘soft’ as he walked toward her, but he knew better than to underestimate her appearance. There was always a glint in the dark of her eyes, something that said she was watching your every move, looking for motive and means.

“Too quiet,” he said, unsurprised when she nodded in understanding. Steve took a seat at the other end of the window, curling one leg under himself and setting his art supplies next to him, giving her his attention. “That book looks ancient.”

Natasha glanced down at the paperback, its cover and spine crinkled, the title and author no longer even decipherable. She practically had the entire thing memorized, but holding it in her hands calmed her, acting like some kind of balm when she needed the reassurance. Something she recognized. Something she _knew_.

“Encyclopedia Brown,” Natasha offered, holding it out toward Steve.

When he grabbed it, it didn’t feel like paper as much as it felt like fabric, like a book of cotton samples. Steve held it in one hand and thumbed through the pages, catching the particular smell that always accompanied old books, but on the tail of that was _Natasha_ , the light gardenia of her shampoo and the lavender lotion from her hands. “Looks older than me,” he said, lips curling when he looked up at her.

“There are things older than you?” At his snort, Natasha took the book back from him, running her hands over the cover, knowing every crease and crinkle. “Actually, it was first published in 1963. Much older than you. I’ve just had it for a long time. It’s a first edition. So I guess you do have _that_ in common.”

Giving her an amused nod, Steve leaned back against the wall, watching as Natasha pulled her knees up, book hanging loosely in her hand. “One of your favorites?”

“One of the first ways I practiced English,” she answered. “It’s not the most hard-hitting detective series out there, but to a young girl in Russia, it held a mystery and mystique all its own.”

When he turned his face toward the window and the perpetually awake city on the other side, Natasha took the time to really look at him. Though the beard on his face gave him a bit of camouflage, she could tell it’d been a while since he got any real semblance of sleep. Between what’d happened in Siberia, his and Barnes’ journey to Wakanda, and the time on his hands since Barnes had gone back into cryo, it was abundantly clear to Natasha that he was struggling with a lot on his shoulders. He’d called her because he needed a friend, someone to help him through it all, and she desperately wanted to prove that he’d made the right decision to call her.

She knew it wouldn’t be easy, helping him deal with the fallout and his fugitive status, or the uncertainty and loneliness he felt now that his best friend had been taken away again, but _damn_ if she wasn’t going to do everything she could.

“You want me to read to you?”

Steve’s gaze pulled from the world beyond the window back to Natasha. She was looking at him with a delicate smile, no pressure or expectation in her gaze, just the easy comfortability of a friend offering their time. It meant a lot that he didn’t have to explain the anxiety still rolling in his head, that she’d been able to tell just by looking at him. “Yeah,” he said finally, the grin on his lips earnest, “I’d like that.”

“We’ll see how good of a detective you are.” Natasha flipped through the book, looking for one of her favorite cases, glancing up when he grabbed the paper and pencils at his side, turning to a clean page before settling back in the window.

When he realized she was looking at him, Steve’s eye widened softly. “Is it okay? For me to -”

“As long as you get my good side.”

“You don’t have a bad side,” he said immediately, cheeks heating softly, glad when she held her tongue, thankfully not making him feel more awkward for the words that had fallen from his lips before he could stop them.

Natasha watched him focus on the pencil in his hand, adjusting the pad of paper, doing anything to keep from acknowledging the pink in his cheeks, looking darker beside the deep blue night sky to his right. Lips curling in a smirk, Natasha found the page she was looking for, tongue wetting her lips before she began.

“ _Bugs Meany and his Tigers liked to spend rainy afternoons in their clubhouse. Usually, they sat around thinking up ways of getting even with Encyclopedia Brown. But today they had met for another purpose - to cheer the boy detective on…_ ”

 

Steve and Natasha settled into an easy routine. There wasn’t much deviation, but neither of them appeared to mind. Mornings started early. Before the sun had even begun to brighten the eastern sky, coffee was brewing and a light breakfast was made. The path of their run was still wet with dew, catching the first rays of light as their legs pumped steadily, carrying them away from the city and toward the mountains and valleys.

While Natasha could hold her own in a foot race against most people, Steve had the help of super serum which put her at a heavy disadvantage. They parted ways at a small clearing, Natasha choosing an easier route around a lake while he increased his speed, climbing through a mountain pass and meeting her on the other side.

It was a normal routine. It was a _good_ routine. The routine was expected.

So when Steve blinked his eyes open, the morning sun streaming through the window of Natasha’s bedroom, he didn’t know what to make of the change. He pushed through the fog of sleep, shifting slightly as he tried to reason why, freezing when he felt movement in his arms. He glanced down, seeing a soft head of blonde hair pressed against his chest, feeling Natasha’s steady breaths in and out.

He replayed the previous night’s events in his mind. They’d bought what they needed to make dinner, Steve having lost a bet whose wager was a home-cooked meal. A little taste of home. Bucky had always been the better cook, but even _Steve_ couldn’t mess up spaghetti with meatballs and garlic bread. He might have missed the taste by a wide margin, but Natasha had said nothing, enjoying both the food and the company.

After they’d washed the dishes by hand - something Steve insisted on despite the amazingly high-tech dishwasher that sat in the kitchen - they’d made their way into Natasha’s room like normal. Steve sketched and scrolled through Princess Shuri’s latest medical updates on Bucky while Natasha emailed Clint and caught up on world news.

Somewhere amidst the comfortable silence, a conversation had been started; it had begun with an errant, throwaway comment about a news story but had morphed into hours of conversation. Moving from topic to topic had been natural, both of them having stories, unafraid to show vulnerabilities to the other. It was good, and _satisfying_ , and where normally he’d have said goodnight and returned to his room, Steve had apparently fallen asleep where he lay.

He took in a deep breath, drowning in the soft floral scent of Natasha’s shampoo. She shifted against him then stilled. Steve blinked up at the ceiling, mind in a tumble. It had been ages since he’d woken up with someone beside him, and while he felt more comfortable with Natasha than almost anyone else, he still felt the first brush of awkward clumsiness rise in heat to his cheeks.

Natasha was wrapped around him, one leg slung over his, her hand curled on his chest and holding his shirt. Steve’s fingers moved reflexively, feeling the jut of her shoulder under the pad of his thumb. Her skin was soft, the tank top she wore leaving plenty of spaces for him to feel the warmth of her body against his.

Steve pushed at the embarrassment that hovered just below the surface, telling himself that they’d both just fallen asleep, that they weren’t the first two people to end up in this exact situation. It was harder to brush aside his feelings the longer he stayed there, lingering, enjoying the feel of her breath as it fanned against his chest. He knew he needed to move, to extricate himself from her bed, but making himself move was harder than he thought it should be.

When he’d stayed there long enough that he’d begun to hear his Ma’s voice in his ear, chiding him for taking advantage of the situation and being anything but a gentleman, Steve did his best to move smoothly, not wanting it to seem like he was escaping. Though, part of him felt like that was _exactly_ what he was doing.

He slid from beneath her head, cradling it in his hands before setting it softly on the mattress. Steve held his breath as her hand trailed across his chest until it, too, came to rest on the comforter. The bed dipped slightly as it lost his weight and Steve turned to look at her, hoping she continued sleeping.

Natasha’s face was peaceful, her cheeks soft and pink as her breath moved in at out in a steady pace. Steve’s hands itched to sketch her like this, to push the fringe of blonde hair on her forehead behind her ear. Something kept him standing there, looking down at her, blue gaze wanting to commit it to memory. Once again, he heard Sarah Rogers’ voice, clear and familiar.

_Boyo, sweet son of mine, don’t be starin’ at som’n like that without askin’ first. Give ‘em a choice to say nah._

Forcing himself to turn toward the door, Steve’s hands formed fists at his sides, ignoring how soft her hair looked and how much he wanted to sift his fingers through it. He cast one more glance at her before he pulled the door shut behind him.

As the latch on the door clicked closed, Natasha’s eyes blinked open. She flattened her palm on the comforter where Steve had just been, still able to feel the warmth of his body on the bed. When he’d fallen asleep last night, mid-sentence, overwhelmingly charming and frustratingly enthralling, _something_ in Natasha’s brain had decided it would be a good idea to scoot closer, close enough to see his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. When he’d shifted and rolled onto his back, Natasha’d reached out, her fingers hovering inches above his forehead, and nose, and lips. When he’d hummed, not sure if it was a good dream or a nightmare, she’d pressed her ear to his chest, listening to the _thump thump_ of his heart.

That she’d fallen asleep on him, that she’d let herself grow to _that_ level of comfort… Telling herself she couldn’t let her guard down like that again, Natasha rolled until she could press her face to the blanket, taking a deep lungful of Steve’s scent, convincing herself that it’d be the last time she let herself entertain any thoughts that involved the soldier in any role other than her teammate and friend.

 

Natasha focused on her breathing. In through her nose, out through her mouth. She did it again, and again, slowing her breaths to long counts of five, feeling the stretch all the way up her leg. She pressed her forehead to her knee, placing both palms on the floor, the tightness of her thighs pinching and making her frown.

She shifted, squaring her hips, pressing her hands to the floor, bending at the waist. Spreading her feet further apart, Natasha repeated her motions on the other side, her lower back loosening and releasing. Clint had always made fun of her religious stretching exercises prior to and after sparring, even after he’d thrown his shoulder out of place trying to catch her in a lock. She’d been more than happy to pop it back, enjoying his yowl of pain and tasting the sweet bite of vindication.

Steve had told himself that Natasha would be in the gym, that he had to prepare himself to see her, that he couldn’t avoid her for much longer. For all intents and purposes, they _lived_ together now. Sure, he’d been able to dodge their regular runs for the past three days since Shuri was walking through some of Bucky’s most recent scans, and yeah, T’Challa had been taking him to dinner and introducing him to the council of Wakandan tribe leaders, but it wouldn’t last forever. At _some point_ he’d have to address the elephant in the room.

Of course, the second his eyes landed on her, fitted pants and a tank that showed toned arms and shoulders, eyes closed, concentration on her face, the only elephant he felt was the weight of knowledge on his chest. Steve let the door fall shut, watching when her shoulders tightened, knowing she knew he was there.

She didn’t acknowledge his entrance though, content to let the silence stretch on, and he took it as the gift it was. Steve dropped his bag by one of the benches, bending to tighten his shoelaces, unable to keep his eyes from sliding to watch Natasha blend from one position into another. Jaw tightening, teeth grinding together, Steve purposefully turned his back to her, taking the option of looking at her off the table.

Natasha let the air out of her lungs slowly, rolling her spine in a bow, feeling vertebrae pop and crack before she straightened, arms dropping to her sides as she frowned at Steve’s back. She knew very well that the soldier had been avoiding her. He’d tried to hide it, of course, but Steve Rogers was not a very covert man. Needing to stay quiet for a mission was a piece of cake, but attempting to deceive someone? That was much more up her alley.

She’d known the moment they’d woken up together in bed days ago - when she’d slipped and _allowed_ it to happen - that she’d have to deal with the fallout. It wasn’t the first time that her heart won out of her mind, and this was the result. Strained friendships that were suddenly awkward. She’d experienced the same with Clint _so many years ago_ , and they were perfectly fine now. Natasha knew they just needed to power through it. She wasn’t going to let it happen again. Best to face it head on.

“Come at me.”

Steve’s hands paused where he’d been wrapping his knuckles with tape. Her voice had surprised him, but it was her word choice that had him spinning to face her, both eyebrows lifting toward his hairline. “What?”

“I said,” Natasha breathed, cocking her head to the side as she watched him gape at her, “come at me. You’re full of tension in your shoulders and back. Let me kick your ass, then you can go to town on the speed bag. You’re only going to hurt yourself if you don’t warm up the muscles first.”

There was a look of dogged determination on Natasha’s face, hair pulled up in a small ponytail at the base of her skull, hands on her hips as she waited for his response. Steve brought the tape to his mouth, using his teeth to tear it away then pressing the rest down flat. “You’re just finishing up. Don’t want to keep you. Who’ll solve Encyclopedia’s next case if you’re wasting your time here with me?”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, taking the moment, avoiding the desire to roll her eyes at him. “Let me rephrase my _request_ ,” she said, making it clear that it had been anything but, “you need to come at me, or I’m going to _actually_ kick your ass, Rogers. I’ve found myself with an excess of energy since my normal jogging partner’s found himself too busy to indulge me.”

Her barbing insistence was familiar and Steve focused on it, letting it soothe over him. This was the Natasha he knew. Caring, but sharp. Flippant, but honest. She wasn’t afraid to tell him how it was, even if he didn’t want to hear it. It was why he considered her such a good friend. One of his best. “ _You_ might consider what you do ‘jogging,’ but there are grandmas at the mall who power walk faster than you run.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Steve and the small, challenging grin that graced his lips. If he was alright enough to joke with her, they were already making progress pushing past the awkwardness. “We could make this interesting.”

“Another home cooked meal?”

“My intestines are still recovering from your last attempt, so maybe we try something different.”

He watched her pad toward him, movement silent, knowing that if he closed his eyes it would be like he was alone in the room. She was skilled enough to hide in the shadows, to be swallowed by them completely, and it had always been a fact that impressed him. When he'd grown up he could be invisible too, but it was for an entirely different reason. "I take it you have a proposal?"

"When I win," Natasha said, grinning when a snort sounded from the soldier, "I get to drag you out of this place for more than just a run or grabbing food for dinner. There's a whole world out there you haven't explored."

Steve couldn't really blame her for the comment, knowing perfectly well that he'd practically locked himself away in a tower, stewing in his own melancholy. He could argue that he was staying close in case anything happened with Bucky, but it'd been weeks now. He knew Shuri and her team were doing everything they could, but Steve had never been particularly good at waiting. He was a man of action and being sidelined with no objective was driving him crazy.

"Alright, fine. And if I win?"

Natasha shrugged her shoulders. "What do I have that you want?"

He wasn't sure if she'd chosen her words just to mess with him, or was oblivious, but Steve knew Natasha never said something she hadn't given careful thought to. He looked down at his feet, trying to think of a comparable prize. When the idea struck him, he glanced up at her, an excited glint in his gaze. "I want you to teach me more Russian. Not everything, but enough."

"Enough for what?"

 _Because Bucky cries out in his sleep and I want to know what he's saying. Because he asked me to be the one when he woke up_.

"For use in a mission," he said after a second of thought, glancing in her direction. "Rules?"

"Open palms. First to tap out." These were the same rules Natasha used with Clint, but their fights lasted so much longer now. Knowing so much about a person meant you anticipated their moves, their weaknesses, able to capitalize on that knowledge and take them down systematically. Sparring with Steve was going to be a challenge. His height and weight were just the first issues, but Natasha was well acquainted with taking down people who were physically larger than her. It was one of the first things she'd been taught.

Natasha rolled her shoulders back, the grin on her face slanting a bit crooked as Steve came to stand in front of her. "I should warn you that I'm not going to hold back."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Steve said, shaking out his legs, then his arms. It had been some time since he'd done this with anyone. He had seen the way T’Challa had moved, watched the women of his guard move, but wasn’t comfortable enough to insert himself into their training.

Most people tended to be intimidated by him and his abilities, assuming that he didn't _need_ to train his body in any real way. He'd grown tired of trying to explain how his reflexes and body might have changed after the serum, but he'd grown up being unable to land a proper punch. Everything he'd known before Camp Lehigh had been from watching Bucky brawl in back alleys, or taking notes when someone was using _him_ as a punching bag.

Both of them seemed to still, holding their breaths, waiting for the other to move first. It appeared Steve was more anxious that Natasha because he lunged forward, hands grabbing for her shoulders. Natasha side-stepped him, ducking under his outstretched arm and lashing out with a slap of her own. Steve blocked it with his forearm, other arm swinging through the air, barely missing her cheek as she moved out of his reach.

Natasha went to the ground, spinning, intent on sweeping his legs. He was prepared and jumped, but as he did so he took his eyes off her just long enough for her to hit the flat of her palm against his ribs.

When he doubled over, she placed a foot on his knee, her other leg coming up and connecting with his chin. She jumped back, somersaulting through the air before landing on her feet, grinning as she looked up at his startled expression. He might have thought she was joking about not holding back, but it'd been the truth. She knew he could take it, and she was more than happy to use this bet as a way to siphon the restless energy in her limbs.

Steve made a few half-hearted attempts to grab her, but it was obvious he was holding back. Natasha understood why he wouldn’t go all out - she’d seen him kick a jeep into a crowd of men, lifting it while barely breaking a sweat - but he was treating her with kid gloves, and for some reason it infuriated her. She wasn’t some delicate flower, just wanting a slap and a tickle.

Natasha came at him again, her arms and legs a flurry of slaps and kicks. He was able to block some of them, but she had a pretty good accuracy rate, which meant he wasn’t taking her seriously. She clenched her jaw, rolling her neck to each side before she dove at him, switching up her fighting style, making him guess what she’d do next.

She ducked under his arm when he finally took an actual swing at her, leaning back out of the way, her backhand making contact with his mouth. He looked up at her, bringing his hand to his lips, tongue darting out to taste the blood. He seemed momentarily shocked that she’d _actually_ hurt him and she took the chance, jumping up and driving both feet into his chest, knocking him to the ground before falling to it herself.

She flipped back up, _oof_ ’ing when he got up first, tackling her around the middle, his shoulder digging into gut, driving them until her back hit the wall. Natasha went limp, her dead weight catching Steve off guard. He dropped her and she used the momentum, diving between his legs. Before he could do anything, she landed a lard blow mid-back, watching him cringe at the kidney hit, knowing it made his whole trunk sing with pain.

A howl of pain filled the air after Natasha's open palm slapped Steve's ear, the soldier lifting his shoulder, the ache sharp. He turned and glared at Natasha as he rubbed the cartilage, eyes narrowing when a small smirk of satisfaction curled her lips.

"That's one of Clint's favorite moves," she mused, sweat beginning to slide down her back, her muscles warm and tensed for his next attack.

She really hadn't been kidding about not holding back, and Steve changed his strategy, knowing he needed a new set of tactics if he wanted to bring this thing home. Her eyes were bright, lit with a steely determination that was captivating. He'd been at her side fighting in the field, seeing how she brought people twice her size to the ground with quick efficiency. This was different as she kept darting in, looking for an opening, keeping herself out of his substantial reach. She was light on her feet, bouncing on her toes as she waited for him to make a move.

Steve looked into the expression on her face, seeing something that had nothing to do with the thirst for victory or the satisfaction of finding an outlet for the physical energy that has built up. It was something he'd recognized on his own face when he looked in a mirror, and he was able to see it reflected in her expression as well. He'd wanted to talk to her about it all since she'd arrived, but he'd taken the coward's way out, leaving the words unsaid. Now that Natasha was standing in front of him, he could taste the guilt like a bad taste on the back of his tongue.

His eyes grew unfocused for just a second but Natasha capitalized on it, darting forward and dropping to her knees, the flat of her palm connecting with Steve's ribs. He grunted and bent over from the blow, just missing her elbow as it jutted upward. He grabbed her forearm and pulled her to her feet in one fluid motion, but she was ready, spinning and bringing her knee into his gut. She was too deep to give up now, too focused on the way her body was singing in response to his. Natasha'd only felt a connection like this once before, when she was a child and hadn't fully understood what it meant, but having that knowledge now left her unfulfilled.

Needing a release for the agitation she'd felt since she'd landed that first day, Natasha threw herself at him, limbs a blur as she tried to land anything she could. It wasn't even about the bet anymore, if was just about getting rid of the excess pressure and strain that filled her, desperate to get it out so it didn't control her actions further.

Steve moved on pure instinct, taking what blows he had to while attempting to dodge the rest, anticipating her next move before she tensed for it. She jumped, wrapping her legs around Steve's waist as she brought her elbows down onto his shoulder, over and over. She dropped one of her legs and lashed out with it, hitting the back of his knee. Steve dropped heavy on the mat, still trying to block her downward swing. He used his size, one of the only weapons he had left, rolling them so she was pressed beneath him, struggling to lock her legs between his. He wrestled her arms away from his head, trapping both of her wrists in one of his hands, holding them above her body, both of them breathing heavy, eyes wide. "Yield."

He let out a yell when Natasha's head rolled to the side, lifting from the mat, intent on clamping her teeth in the flesh of his forearm. He tightened his hold on her wrists, stretching her arms further, his body weight more than enough to keep her still. She still bucked up against him, frustration clear on her face, trying to find a way to wiggle out from under him. When she faced the fact that she was well and truly stuck, he watched the annoyed resignation settle into the green of her eyes, lips thinning slightly.

"Yield," Steve said again, tasting the hint of blood on his lips, one of her well-placed backhands having split them.

A wave of stubbornness swelled within Natasha, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, knowing that their friendly sparring bet had turned into something more. She ground her teeth together, staring into his eyes, feeling her heartbeat heavy in her chest. She knew the bitterness of defeat, whether she wanted to admit it or not, and through she hated losing, she had no real choice. She nodded at him, almost imperceptibly, the movement stinted, barely more than a breath outward.

Steve's shoulders sagged slightly, the breath he'd been holding passing his lips in a huff. He released her wrists and sat back, his knees still pressed to either side of her hips. She lifted her upper body, holding herself up on her elbows, the sweat on her brow sliding down her neck and darkening the tank she wore. They stared at each other, neither speaking, letting the energy of the fight drain from their systems as they caught their breaths.

When Natasha shifted below him, Steve moved off of her, staying on his knees at her side, brushing at the sweaty fringe that was plastered to his forehead. He took a deep breath in and let it out in a sigh. "I’m sorry."

Natasha shook her head, watching him look down at the mat, brows knit together with guilt. "Don't be sorry. You won fair and square."

"I'm not talking about the bet," he said, blue eyes flicking up to look at her, seriousness on his face.

"... then what are you talking about?" Natasha felt like she'd been dropped into the middle of a conversation she hadn't heard the first part of. The emotions flit over Steve's expression like a movie, a meld of remorse, and embarrassment, and anxiety. Steve'd always had trouble keeping everything inside, not showing the entire world what he was feeling, but this was _more_.

"I'm sorry I'm the reason you're on the run, why you can't go home."

She'd been waiting for this since she'd arrived. Natasha had watched it build behind his eyes, the responsibility he couldn't help but carry, but she'd been hoping he'd realize how stupid it sounded and leave it alone. She should have known better. She knew _him_ better than that. "Steve..."

"Nat, I fucked everything up. We had a home. A team. If I would have just listened to you and Tony -"

"Don't. This isn't just on you, okay?" She waited until he looked at her, so she could see the truth on her face as she spoke, so there was no misunderstanding. "We all did and said things we regret. We've got to move past it."

Steve shook his head, hearing her words but not believing them. "None of it would have happened if I'd just waited, if I'd tried to make everyone understand."

"We understand." At his pointed look, Natasha shrugged her shoulders. "Okay, _some_ of us understand. The rest will get over it."

"But Tony -"

"Tony knows what happened. He's dealing with it."

Steve frowned at the look on her face, the tiny glint of guilt in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

This wasn't how she'd wanted to broach the subject with Steve, but there was no avoiding it now. She pushed herself into a sitting position, curling her legs under herself as she sighed, pinning him with her gaze. "I mean that Tony is working to get Ross taken care of, to get the Accords amended. _Heavily amended_. He's trying to clear all of our names so we _can_ go home."

Confusion rolled inside Steve, remembering the look on Tony's face as he'd brought the shield down on the reactor in his chest, watching the blue light fizzle then fade. The red of Tony's armor matched the blood from cuts all over his face, the violence they'd shown each other something visceral. He'd known in the moment that they were both fighting for someone else. Tony had been fighting for his mother, another casualty of the war with Hydra and their murderous regime.

Steve had been fighting Hydra, too. The Hydra that had taken Bucky, who'd experimented on him, who'd wiped his memory and plunged him into ice over and over. He'd been fighting the people who hadn't seen Bucky as a victim, someone who'd been forced to endure years and years of suffering. In that instant, Tony had become every single person who'd laid their hands on Bucky. He'd stopped himself from going further, staring in the brown eyes of a man he'd come to consider family. How were they supposed to come back from that?

"You've been talking with Tony?"

"No. I don't want to give him the satisfaction. He's part of the reason we're in this mess and I'm still pissed. I've been talking with Rhodes."

"Why would Tony -"

"What do you mean _why_? You know why." Natasha frowned at Steve, head cocking to the side. She'd done her best, playing the role of a go-between, trying to smooth things over where she could, but it'd been impossible. She knew from personal experience that sometimes the only way to fix something was to tear everything apart and burn it to the ground before you could rebuild.

"I don't -"

"Steve, come on." Either he was purposefully being tiring, or he was truly oblivious. Both of those options made Natasha's chest tighten with affection. "Because you show up when someone you care about calls." He looked up at her sharply and Natasha held his gaze without wavering, making sure he realized what her words meant. When he tore his eyes from her, glancing down at the mat as his cheeks filled with pink heat, she continued to look at him, trying to ignore the emotion rising in her chest. She pushed it aside, unwilling to unpack it here, not when he still needed reassuring. "And, believe it or not, it's easier to show up for someone if you're _not_ on the FBI's Most Wanted list."

Steve snorted softly, lips curling when he looked back at Natasha, light amusement in his eyes. "I could see how that would be a problem."

"Besides," she started, reaching up to rub at her sore shoulder, "Tony's good with all that legalese. Let him figure it out. He'll make the deal."

"He always does," Steve said with a knowing shake of his head, glancing up when Natasha stretched her arms over her head, moving gingerly. "I'm still sorry."

The look she gave him was one of exasperation, and Natasha let her hands fall to her sides. "And I'm still telling you to shut up, _Мое солнце_."

One corner of Steve's mouth lifted when the Russian word fell from her tongue. He wasn't sure what it was, but it reminded him of the entire reason for their sparring match. "Speaking of Russian..."

"Hey, no need to rub your win in my face."

"How about we call it a draw? We can do both."

Natasha smiled before rising to her feet. She held out a hand toward the soldier, grunting as she tugged him to standing. "Deal."

 

* _beep beep beep_ *

“ _Nggh_ ,” Natasha groaned, burying her head deeper into her pillow, not wanting to acknowledge the annoying tone.

* _beep beep beep_ *

Slowly, it filtered to her sleep addled brain that one of the only people who had her phone number was Clint. The realization made her eyes snap open and she fumbled to grab it off the nightstand, knocking it to the ground. “ _дерьмо Блядь держать!_ ”

She managed to get it in her hands, swiping her thumb along the fingerprint sensor, blinking as the screen turned black with green text.

 _I’m home._  
_Stark came through. The dick actually came through._  
_Under house arrest, but at least it’s my house and not the **big** house._  
_Either you’re still sleeping or my sense of humor has rendered you speechless. I don’t know which one would be better._  
_Text me back so I know you’re not dead._  
_Seriously, Nat. Text me back._

Her fingers began to type a message but froze when an arm was thrown around her waist from behind. She felt Steve’s facial hair brushing between her shoulder blades. He made a small noise, something close to a sigh, before settling again. They’d been watching a movie on Steve’s laptop, some black and white film he remembered from when he was a kid, and they must have fallen asleep. The computer was still open, it’s screen saver on and flashing from the end of the bed.

Natasha debated staying how she was, Steve holding her tight, feeling his warmth at her back. There were very few people she’d allow to be behind her, having her at a disadvantage, but where normally her instincts would kick in and she’d remedy the situation, she knew she was safe. Steve wouldn’t hurt her. She was fine.

Except she wasn’t. His breath fanned against her back, fingers flexing in his sleep, somehow having slipped beneath the hem of her tank top. She was about to wake him when the pad of his fingers brushed over the scar she held on the lower left side of her stomach. The one the Winter Soldier had gifted her with.

A flood of memories accompanied the bit of skin, replaying that day in her like a horrible action film. She hadn’t known then who it was, the man behind the gun, the one who’d shot through her to get to his target, but she knew now. Natasha let out a sigh, closing her eyes, pushing at the contradictory feelings.

She knew the kind of man Steve Rogers was. She knew how large his heart was, how he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Natasha knew that if she told him, if she told him _everything_ , that it would change things. She didn’t want things to change, not like that, and she hoped they wouldn’t have to. She could hold it in, bury it away, hide it in the dark with all of her other secrets.

And if it wouldn’t stay hidden, if it came out? She’d handle it. She’d have no other choice.

Moved to action, Natasha lifted her hand and patted Steve’s arm, shaking it lightly. “Steve.”

“ _Mmhh_ ,” Steve hummed, pulling his arm away and rolling onto his back, his eyes still closed.

“Steve. Sun’s up.” When he didn’t move again, Natasha rolled her eyes, sitting up on the bed. She took a second to appreciate how different he looked from when they’d first met. His hair was longer and darker, the newly-grown beard giving him a sharpness he didn’t have before. He looked tired, but in a way that sleep wouldn’t help. Battle worn, perhaps.

In sleep, though, his face had smoothed out, the worried wrinkles disappearing. It was charming and Natasha reached out to run her fingers along his jaw, scratching with her nails. “Steve.”

Steve leaned his cheek into her hand, brows knitting together, the last vestiges of sleep slipping from his mind. He blinked his eyes open, going still as he looked up at Natasha, the sunshine streaming in from the window surrounding her in a halo of light. “Hm?”

One corner of Natasha’s mouth lifted up when he didn’t immediately pull his face from her hand, happy that he didn’t appear to be too put out with how they’d woken up together. Again. She gave him one more good scratch before pulling her hand back. “We overslept.”

“Don’t think we had an alarm set,” he said, laying back against the pillows, watching as she glanced down at the phone in her hand. “What time is it?”

“Still early. Just not _our_ early. Your choice in movie must have been pretty bad if it put both of us to sleep,” Natasha mused, glad when he gave her a small grin. If overcorrecting with the whole sleeping situation could help, she’d be happy to steer into the skid. “Is my bed really that much more comfortable than yours? If you want to switch you just need to ask.”

“Pretty sure it’s the same bed, but we can always give it a try and compare.” Her laugh was deep and raspy, and it made the smile on Steve’s face grow brighter. He looked at her for another minute before he sat up, closing his laptop before climbing to his feet. “You hungry? I could make us some eggs.”

“As long as you don’t burn them like last time.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head, squinting as he turned to look at her. “You still ate them.”

“Out of pity,” she clarified, satisfied when he gave her a good snort, “I’ll be out in a second.” Natasha followed him with her eyes, until he pulled the door shut behind him. She heard the tell-tale sounds of kitchen cabinets being opened and closed, pots and pans being banged about. When the sigh lifted her shoulders, she turned back toward the phone in her hand, seeing the small blinking light that meant Clint was currently typing.

**I’m alive. You can call off the search dogs.**

_I was about to call Fury_  
_You good?_

**I’m good.**

_Like, good good? Or bad good?_

**Just good.**

_You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?_

Natasha sighed. Even just through text messages, Clint was able to tell that something was wrong. It’d been there in his eyes the day that they’d met, when he’d had a gun pointed at her head and the order to neutralize the threat she posed. He’d looked at her, looked _through_ her, and everything had changed. They’d made mistakes at first, thinking it was something different than what it really was, but whether they were lovers or friends, she knew she couldn’t hide anything from Clint. She’d tried and failed spectacularly over the years. Now she knew better.

**You’re one of the only people I’d tell.**

She watched the green light blink, waiting for the novel of words he’d throw at her. Maybe yelling at her for being so far away, or for not going far enough, or for going a place he couldn’t follow or find if she needed a quick escape. She ran all the scenarios through her head, trying to come up with appropriate responses.

_He doesn’t know. You haven’t told him._

Natasha blinked at his message, taking a deep breath in and then letting it out slowly.

**No reason to tell. Might never come up.**

_Do you really believe that, or are you just using that as an excuse?_

She knew better than to answer, but she worried. Worried he was wrong, Worried he wasn’t. Steve called her name from the other room letting her know breakfast was ready, and she frowned down at the phone, deciding to avoid it all together.

**Tell Laura I said hi. Kiss the kids for me.**

_Tell them yourself when you get home._

 

It was an entire week before they managed to make good on their friendly wager. Natasha had asked Okoye if there were any places in the busy streets of Wakanda’s capital city of Birnin Zana that they shouldn’t miss, and the general of the Dora Milaje had given several suggestions. While it was inevitable they’d stick out like a sore thumb, they were greeted with polite smile and welcoming expressions.

It was like an entirely separate world in the African country. It was one of the first times Steve had been able to walk the streets and not worry about being made, not looking over his shoulder for a stray camera that would give him away. It wasn’t often he got to be a tourist, and he knew it was a new experience for Natasha as well.

Somehow, in just the few weeks she’d been there, Natasha had managed to learn enough Xhosa that she could stumble through questions about the fabrics that hung from a shop’s awning. The memory of how good she was about Clint’s children came to mind when Natasha bent and had a stilted conversation with a kid who’d tugged on her arm. Her eyes shone in a completely different way, her smile unguarded and honest. When the kid had pointed excitedly over her shoulder and began pulling Natasha in that direction, the spy had grabbed Steve’s hand and tugged him along, too.

It’d been too easy to give into the atmosphere, draping his arm over Natasha’s shoulder, pushing through the anxiousness, letting her company soothe the feeling of helplessness whenever he thought of Bucky, still in cryo, still being dutifully worked on by Shuri and her people.

When Steve had gone quiet, his eyes turning serious, Natasha had elbowed him in the ribs, pulling him from the darker thoughts that were always at the corners of his mind. It was an almost around-the-clock job to keep him from retreating, but it was the exact reason he’d called her, and she’d be damned if she failed him.

When they’d been full of food, their feet aching, Natasha toting a bag full of gifts for Clint’s kids, the pair had wound up and down the glittering streets toward home. Like they’d done every night for the past week, they both changed into their pajamas and climbed into Natasha’s bed.

It was nice, not having to be alone. Being alone gave them both too much time to think - about home, about Bucky, about the uncertainty of it all - so they chose to fill their hours with as much of the other person as they could.

It was easier. It was _better_.

“ _Где туалет?_ ”

Steve looked down at the pad of paper next to him on the bed, brows knitting together as he tried to repeat her. “Gude twalet?”

“That’s close. They kind of blend into each other.”

“The last one just sounds like toilet.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning back against the headboard, sounding it out phonetically for him. When Steve finally managed to string the sounds together, though still a bit robotic, she moved onto the next phrase. “ _Доброй ночи._ ”

“Dobrey noshae,” he repeated, eyebrows lifting when he gave him a smile. “Yeah? That’s about night?”

“Means ‘good night’,” she said, giving him an impressed expression. “I think you’re getting the hang of it. Want to try something a little harder?” At his raised eyebrow and a look that said ‘challenge accepted,’ Natasha screwed her face into faux contemplation. “How about… _Мне нравятся большие приклады, и я не могу лгать_.”

Steve blinked at Natasha, watching her lips form the words, unable to catch _anything_ she’d just said. It sounded like an entire paragraph, not just a sentence. “Not sure I caught that. Give it again?”

“ _Мне нравятся большие приклады_ ,” Natasha said, much slower this time, a spark of amusement in her green gaze as she leaned toward him, “ _и я не могу лгать_.”

Looking down at his notes, Steve flipped back through several pages, trying to make heads or tails out of the phrase. When he felt the first pang of discouragement, he looked up at her with a sigh. “I’m on the ropes. Throw me a towel.”

“It means ‘I like big butts and I can not lie,’” Natasha said, lips turning up in a smirk when his eyes narrowed at her. “It’s a pretty common saying. They even made a song about it.”

“You know what? I take it back. I don’t need your help anymore.” He tossed his notes and pencil aside, shaking his head and heaving a large, dramatic sigh.

“Aw, come on, Rogers. I’m just making sure you have the best and most used sentences in your arsenal. Need to arm you with the good stuff. Are you saying you _don’t_ like big butts? I know there’ll be several online message boards who will be devastated to hear it.”

“Yuck it up, Romanoff. See where it gets you.”

“It got me in a secret country, on the run from home, teaching a boy from Brooklyn how to speak Russian. I’m all yucked out. Come on, Steve. Don’t be mad at me. _Steeeeeve_.” She poked at him with her foot, pointing her toe and digging it into his side. She let out a gasping laugh when he grabbed the offensive limb and wrapped his hand around her ankle.

When Steve ran a finger along the arch of her foot, her sudden shout and desperate attempt to rip it from his grasp only made him hold tighter. He hadn’t taken Natasha for the ticklish type, but if her reaction was any indication, he might have found one of her only weaknesses. He did it again, laughing at the way she sucked in air and slapped at his arms.

“Stop! Steve! _Stop!_ ” Natasha felt lighter than she had in years, gasping for air, cheeks pink from laughter. He caught one of her arms, pulling it away from his head, holding it out so it couldn’t strike him. She managed to pull her foot from his grasp but he tugged on her arm instead, knocking her off balance, making her crash into his upper body and press him backward on the bed.

The laughter was still shaking his shoulders as he grinned up at her, seeing Natasha’s _real_ smile, the one so few people got to see. He reached up reflexively, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. He watched her freeze at the movement, his own hand hovering in the air next to her head, realizing what he’d just done.

Natasha looked down at him, her mouth parting slightly, her heartbeat loud in her ears. His pupils dilated, such a small dot of black in all that blue. His breath fanned upward, moving her hair at the edges of her vision, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed suddenly becoming her only focus.

He tried to stop them, but Steve’s eyes strayed south, fascinated by the plump of her bottom lip. When he realized what he was doing, he snapped his eyes upward, stopping the torrent of thoughts that were assaulting his mind. “I should go.”

She could tell the tension on the air like a spice, heady and heavy and utterly impossible. Natasha knew this wasn’t why she’d come to him. Steve had asked for her and she’d come running, trying to convince herself it was because of their friendship, that she had so few of them that were worth anything, but the one she had with Steve? It was worth a lot. It was worth _more_.

This would lead down a road, she knew, and there would be no map, no path to follow. It’d be like stabbing in the dark, hoping you found your target. It was unrealistic. She knew she needed to be cautious, that there were things that needed to be known, but she wasn’t sure how to push through the cloud of _want_ that seemed to have settled firmly around her shoulders.

He saw the same fog in her eyes that he knew was in his. Steve looked up at her, amazed that he’d never noticed that there were flecks of brown in all the emerald, wondering how this has snuck up on him. Sam had once told him that for a man who never missed a detail, he was one of the most oblivious people he’d ever met. Is this what his friend had meant? That he didn’t see someone until they’d already become buried deep?

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to go,” Natasha said, uncertain when her voice had become so breathless. She saw a war waging behind Steve’s eyes, feeling the same battle in her own. He was looking at her so solidly, so wholly, that she felt it in the marrow of her bones. “Would it be so bad?”

Her question was only five words, but they held so much weight that he felt it in his throat, something he had to breath through. “Nat…”

“I know,” Natasha said, tongue sweeping out to wet her lips, “it’s not smart. I’ve never…” She debated holding her words in, swallowing them and resigning herself to stoicism, but they tumbled free anyway. “I’ve kept my distance. From everyone. Personal attachments are a vulnerability. They’re used against people too often. You let your guard down and you give someone a weapon. That’s how I’ve lived my life. But you…”

Natasha watched her words impact Steve’s face, his eyes growing softer the longer she spoke. ”Steve, you’re the best man I’ve ever met. I trust you. Would it really be that bad?”

Steve could see the honesty in Natasha’s face, knowing that the steel walls that normally guarded her were open wide, everything laid bare. It warmed him to hear her say she trusted him, even after everything that had happened. He wasn’t sure if he’d have made it through the weeks without her being here, at his side, being exactly what he needed when he needed it. “Nat, there are things you don’t know about me and -”

“You’re not the only one with secrets,” Natasha said with a small shake of her head. “I’ve got plenty of my own.”

It was getting harder to argue with her, especially when he took a deep breath in and was suddenly drowning in the floral gardenia scent that seemed to stain her skin. He could see the quickend beat of her pulse at her neck, his own matching in speed, and he was finding it harder and harder to argue against what she was suggesting.

He pushed at the desire pooling in his stomach, questioning his own feelings. Before Natasha arrived, Steve had felt adrift. The pain of getting Bucky back only to have him taken away again was still like an open wound. He felt it like a hole in his chest, like he’d glimpsed a piece of himself that he’d thought lost then lost it just as quickly. He was unsteady.

Or he _had_ been. Ever since Natasha had become a constant presence, things had been easier. She made things better. He didn’t just want her here because he was lonely, Steve wanted her there because she made everything bearable. The lightness she’d brought, sometimes having to beat him to shake it free, was the only reason he was still standing.

She was his friend. She was one of his _best_ friends. His only worry was that he’d have her friendship taken away, too. Steve wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle losing her. Not now. “It's been a long night,” he said after the silence had stretched on for what felt like forever. “I don't want to do something we’d regret.”

His words did little to calm the flames that were licking inside of her body. “Would you?” she asked, her voice small, words soft. “Regret it?”

Steve could hear the beat of his heart, vibrating in his chest, like he was racing toward the edge of a cliff with no breaks. “Would you?”

Natasha shook her head, fixated by the way his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks as he blinked. “I’ve regretted a lot of things I’ve done,” she answered him, the honesty of it heavy on her tongue, “but it’s the things I _didn’t _do that haunt me most.”__

__When Steve said nothing but continued to look up at her, blinking those gorgeous blue eyes, her hand cupped his cheek, the soft bristles of his dark beard tickling her palm. Her thumb swiped slowly across his lower lip, tugging it slightly, watching the line of his mouth open. Steve’s brows pulled together slightly, hesitation on his face. She’d tasted his lips before, all those years ago on that escalator, when their adrenaline had been high and their senses on overdrive. It’d been a distraction, a way to escape before they were made by Rumlow and his men._ _

__She’d thought of that kiss a lot since she’d arrived, about how she’d played it off with a joke about her being the first kiss since the Forties. She’d ignored the voice at the back of her head that whispered how it’d be different if it was just them, if they weren’t rushed, if they gave it the time a real kiss deserved._ _

__Natasha wasn’t conscious of moving, but she caught Steve’s eyes before she pressed her mouth to his. It was soft, and cautious, nothing but the press of lips. It was over just as quick when she pulled back, blinking open her eyes, trying to understand the look on Steve’s face, wondering if she’d pushed him too hard, too fast._ _

__Steve held his breath as she leaned in, feeling the fullness of her lips on his, eyes staying open when she kissed him. It was over so fast that he wondered if it had actually counted as a kiss at all. Despite the small fraction of time it’d taken, Steve could feel his heart beating faster, his body reacting to the feel of her pressed against him, still able to feel the reluctance and worry at the back of his mind, but it’d been replaced with a darker knowledge, a deeper desire that seemed to brush away his hesitation._ _

__He reached to cradle her face in his palms, thumbs brushing over her cheeks until his fingers trailed into her hair. Steve peered into her eyes, looking for any hint of doubt. “Are you sure?”_ _

__His words had been low, the words vibrating in his chest, and Natasha felt her pulse in her throat, her body thrumming with an electric energy. She wet her lips, making sure he could see the truth of her response. “You’re one of the only things I’ve ever been sure about.”_ _

__Steve’s shoulders lifted from the bed, pressing his mouth to hers, hands burying in the hair at the nape of her neck. He was still careful, but he finally allowed himself to _feel_ what was happening, to admit that he _wanted_ her. There were plenty of reasons why this was a bad idea, things that needed to be addressed, things that he needed to _admit_ to himself, but that was all lost in the taste of her mouth and the feel of her skin on his._ _

__One of his hands trailed from her hair and came to rest on her lower back, pressing their bodies together, her legs straddling one of his thighs as they kissed. Natasha melted against him, fingers fisting in the cotton of his tank top as the kiss went from tentative to heated. Steve’s breath hitched when she nipped his bottom lip between her teeth, following it with just the hint of her tongue, soothing._ _

__All at once, Natasha found herself dizzy and overwhelmed with want and desire, wondering how she’d never seen this before, how she’d _missed_ that this was hiding inside of her. Steve more than reciprocated, using his lips, and teeth, and tongue, tilting his head to the side when he wanted to deepen their kiss._ _

__Natasha caught her fingers in the honey strands of his hair, tugging Steve even closer, shifting against his body, unable to stop the small sounds she hummed when one of his hands gripped her hip. His knee lifting from the bed and pressing against her, forcing a gasp from her mouth that was immediately swallowed by his._ _

__She lost track of time, unsure how long spent tasting each other, finding new ways to breath in each other’s space, discovering what made the other shiver and quake. When air became an issue they broke apart, breathing heavily. Natasha could see the blush of arousal across Steve’s cheeks and knew her own creamy complexion would echo his. Her skin sung with electricity at each contact point, her lips tingled, her eyes hooded._ _

__“How long?” Steve asked, staring into her eyes, knowing the question could be turned around and that he’d struggle to come up with an answer himself._ _

__“How long what?” The sound of her voice surprised herself, full of rasp and so low it was almost a whisper._ _

__The soft glare Steve leveled at her through his lashes held no heat. “This, Natasha,” he said, tightening his grip on her hips, thumbs brushing under the hem of her tank to pass against her skin. “How long?”_ _

__Natasha’s gaze flicked downward, not wanting him to see the flash of emotion on her face. Desire still thrummed through her body, dark and deep and warm, but she’d been trained since she was a child and she’d learned quickly that admitting your desires mean they could be used against you._ _

__But this was _Steve_. She trusted him implicitly and without hesitation._ _

__“Since Sam’s,” she said, green eyes locking with his, knowing it was the truth even though she hadn’t realized it herself at the time, “after Lehigh, when you said you’d trust me with your life.”_ _

__Steve thought back to that day, his brain turning at the task. Those few days had turned his entire world upside down. He’d seen his boss killed at the hands of an assassin. He’d found out the people he worked for weren’t who he thought they were. He’d suspected Natasha of working with the enemy then found out she was one of the _only_ people he could count on. _ _

__And he’d been counting on her ever since._ _

__“I’m sorry I didn’t see it.”_ _

__The grin on Natasha’s face grew slowly, his words filling her heart. “I didn’t see it either,” she said, fingers brushing a bit of his hair from his brow, “but even if I had, there are a few things you tend to be blind to.”_ _

__He couldn’t argue with her, feeling the weight of that truth pressing on his chest. Steve’s mind whirled with the changes that had happened, even in just the past few months. He looked into the eyes of one of his anchors, the person single-handedly keeping his head above water, and knew that this moment was important. If they did this, if he gave into the desire drawn taut in his body, would it change things? Yes. Of course. It would absolutely change things. But the real question was, knowing what he knew now, would he want to go back?_ _

__No. He couldn’t. His eyes were open and Steve felt like he was seeing clearly after years of fog._ _

__Steve slid his hands up Natasha’s sides, cupping her cheek with his right and pulling her closer with his left. He paused, making sure she could see his eyes, so she understood. “Not blind anymore,” he said, watching her pupils dilate before capturing her mouth, no longer hesitant or cautious._ _

__Natasha hummed her approval when he rolled them on the bed, her knees opening so his hips could fit between them, feeling the strength in his arms as he held himself up, the weight of his body pinning her. She was keenly aware of how _large_ Steve was, somehow making her feel delicate and fragile, and she fed at his mouth greedily. Whatever wall had been holding him back was torn down, knocked away and forgotten, and Natasha’s body tingled with satisfaction._ _

__His hand ghosted down her side and gripped the back of her knee, lifting it higher as he deepened the kiss, his tongue curling into her mouth, giving into the feel of her writhing below. When she tugged at his tank top, it was nothing just to pull the thing off, letting it disappear over the edge of the bed. Steve’s focus was forcing more sounds to fall from Natasha’s lips, chasing her sighs and hums, wanting to hear her._ _

__Now that she’d acknowledged and given into the desire that had been hidden inside, Natasha wasn’t sure how to hold anything back. Her fingers dug into his back, feeling the slide of muscles just beneath his skin, strong and solid. His pajama bottoms left little to the imagination and she could feel him pressed hard and hot against her, the sensation drawing another moan from her chest. She pressed her heel to the elastic on his waist, pushing it down, body shuddering when she found he wore nothing underneath the fabric._ _

__His mouth blazed a trail down her neck, his beard rubbing against her skin in the best way. Steve sucked at her collarbone, pulling her sleep tank to the side so he could slide his tongue along her shoulder, biting his teeth lightly, soothing it will his lips seconds later. She shifted and he pulled back, eyes heating when she grabbed the bottom of the fabric and pulled it away._ _

__She was gorgeous, like a thing of art, and Steve’s mouth went dry at just the sight of her. There was no hesitation on her face, no play of coyness in the emerald of her eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing and it hit Steve like a freight truck, his breath huffing out the longer he looked._ _

__“Come here,” Natasha breathed, reaching for him, fingers curling against his biceps, pulling his body back to hers. She put everything in her movements, hands desperate to feel every inch of his skin, sucking his lower lip into her mouth as her fingers tangled in his hair. She tightened her grip, making him stretch his head back, her tongue licking in a solid line from his collarbone to his ear._ _

__“ _Nat_ ,” he hissed, heart beating faster when her hand dipped below the fabric of his pants, fingers wrapping around his cock. He lifted himself up, head hanging heavily, tasting his arousal on his tongue, taking a deep shuddering breath in. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, since he’d been _close_ enough to let someone in. _ _

__He knew it would have been easy, if he’d wanted, to find someone to spend the night with. He was embarrassed by the number of women who’d given him their number, or clutched at him when they were given the chance. It had never been what he wanted, needing to feel a connection to someone before he would open himself up like that. He was open now, completely and utterly, and the heaviness of the moment clung to his mind._ _

__Natasha’s eyes poured over Steve’s face, trying to place the almost haunted look on his face. “Steve?” When his eyes opened, so dark and full of meaning, she felt it all the way down to her toes. He dipped his head, kissing her tenderly and not with the rush of frenzy like before, and she savored the way he felt against her._ _

__Steve slid his body down hers, mouth making a path over her skin. Her grip in his hair tightened when he palmed her breast and set his teeth around her nipple, sucking at the nub, tongue curling around it. His left hand found the other and twisted it softly, rolling it between his fingers. Her moan of his name ended in a gasp as he continued his study of her body._ _

__His mouth on her lower stomach made Natasha squirm against the bed, wanting him to go further while desperate to have her mouth against his. She cried out when he rubbed his face over her sex through the fabric of her pants, the warmth of his breath forced her back to arch off the bed, her eyes snapping open to see him nuzzle against her. When his blue eyes rolled up to look at hers she found she was transfixed, unable to look away as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants, slowly pulling them and her panties down, leaving her bare before him._ _

__Steve’s eyes felt like they weren’t open wide enough, like there was so much to take in, too much skin to memorize. He bent, pressing his mouth over the scar on her stomach, tongue lapping at it. When she fell back to the bed with a sigh, her hands fisting into the comforter, he did it again, earning a hiss of name from her lips. Steve lifted his head, waiting until she looked down at him._ _

__There was a questioning look in his eyes, looking for some kind of permission from her. Natasha realized with a start that he was still making sure she wanted this, that she wanted _him_. After everything that she’d endured, the pain and fear, the inability to make her own choices, that he wanted her consent before going further filled her with an emotion she couldn’t quite voice. She nodded her head at him._ _

__Steve slid a hand under her body, palming one of her cheeks and turning his face to press a kiss to the inside of her knee. He kept moving against her skin, shifting until he could hook her calf over one of his shoulders, could nudge her legs further apart. He could smell her, heady and strong and like nothing else, and his eyes fell closed as his tongue curled for his first taste._ _

__The flat of his tongue brushed against her and it was almost enough to tear her apart. Natasha’s hips jerked, unable to keep herself still when Steve did it again. He moved slowly, taking his time, learning what made her cry out, what made her shudder. Her eyes screwed shut then snapped open at the first press of his finger. “ _Fuck!_ ”_ _

__The shouted curse made his lips quirk upward before he continued, his finger sliding easily between her slick walls, feeling the velvet clench around him. His tongue found and brushed over the place that made her writhe, adding another finger when she gasped his name, then another when she ground against his hand._ _

__Natasha was making a litany of sounds, none of them decipherable, and her hands were on a constant circuit between tangling in his hair and gripping the bed. Her body danced below him, shaking at the first burst that rocked through her, just a taste of what was to come._ _

__The entirety of Steve’s focus was on Natasha, on making her scream, wanting her to fall apart, wanting to leave her seeing stars. He set to it, tongue flicking against her, fingers moving in tandem, determined. He felt it ramp up inside of her, his free hand coming to rest on her lower stomach, trying to hold her still but failing._ _

__She shouted his name as she crashed, spasming around his fingers, vision stolen by white. Steve’s tongue made her twitch until it was too much, until she had to pull at his hair and pull his mouth away. She was panting, eyes closed and face slack, trying to think past the haze of the orgasm. Natasha hummed when he kissed his way back up her body, his beard brushing over her sensitive nipples making her breath hitch. Her hands felt blindly for his face, pulling him to her, needing to press her lips to his. She could taste herself on his tongue and she moaned into his mouth, limbs feeling like lead weight as they kissed._ _

__Her release had been one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, her entire body filled with abandon, her face like something divine. Natasha shook below him, quaking, clutching at his upper back, nails digging in. Steve wrapped his hand around himself, fingers transferring the wetness she’d soaked him in, spreading it. He waited until she opened her eyes, the green hooded and dark, her mouth parting as she let out her breath._ _

__Steve watched her face as he pressed himself against her opening, her chin dropping, his name falling from her lips. He moved slowly, like torture, not wanting to give himself away, unsure how long he’d last. It’d been so long, _too_ long, and he felt his desire like a living thing in his chest, rattling at the cage it’d been locked in. Only when he filled her, when she surrounded him with velvet heat, did his eyes fall closed, his face almost twisted in pain._ _

__Natasha couldn’t look away from his face, or the vulnerable, naked want that colored his expression. He pulled out just as slowly, their bodies almost disconnecting before he snapped his hips forward, the movement forcing the breath from her lungs. He did it again, the tormenting retreat then the deep thrust, a growl rumbling in his chest, causing the hairs on her arms to rise in gooseflesh._ _

__He opened his eyes, staring into hers. The flinch of pleasure on her face as he bucked into her sent a shiver up his spine and he chased it with another, then another. The sound of his skin slapping against hers filled the room, his jaw clenching in an effort not to push too hard too fast. It was impossible to stop himself though, and he thrust into her with increasing speed._ _

__Every time Natasha though he’d gone as deep as he could she was proven a liar, gasping his name, nails digging into his flesh, urging him on. His mouth and fingers had worked her over enough that she was like putty, taking everything he could give her, wanting it more. A look of determination had taken over his face and she watched the tick in his jaw before he lost all abandon, giving in and just chasing his own release._ _

__Steve’s hips slammed into her, each impact knocked a moan from her, a matching growl thundering in his chest. He could taste it on the back of his tongue, felt it pooling in the pit of stomach, and he grabbed her hips with each of his hands, pounding himself into her. He felt the first wave as it crashed into him, shouting as he came, hearing an echoing scream from her._ _

__Natasha watched his face, the pleasure rippling over, his mouth falling open as he thrust shallowly into her, shivering from his head to the tip of his toes before going still. She released her nails from his skin, knowing there’d be little half-moon marks in his flesh, hoping they’d linger. He nearly collapsed on her but caught himself on his arms, leaving space between their upper bodies. His head hung between his shoulders, breathing heavily, brows knit together. She cradled his face in both of her hands, scratching at his beard, lifting herself so she could kiss him, whispering his name against his lips._ _

__He sighed when Natasha’s mouth trailed from his and pressed to his cheek, then the other, then over his closed eyes and forehead before stealing his lips again. Steve lowered himself so he could return the kiss lazily, feeling like he has spent the entirety of his energy. Sated. Satisfied. When he was certain he was able to speak, he blinked his eyes open, looking into Natasha’s eyes from this close a wholly new experience. “That was…”_ _

__When Steve trailed off, Natasha’s lips quirked up, the tone of his voice warming her cooling skin all over again. “Yeah.”_ _

__“I mean… wow.” At Natasha’s soft laughter, Steve smiled himself, wishing he could use better words to explain what had just transpired. It was no use, though, so he gave up, sliding so he could lay next to her on the bed, both of them sighing as their bodies disconnected._ _

__Natasha could feel him between her legs, knowing they needed to clean up, but she didn’t want to move. She brushed a bit of hair from his forehead, focusing on the flecks of green in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before now. She could feel a conversation hovering around them, waiting, but she ignored it, wanting to make this moment last longer._ _

__Steve watched a play of thoughts pass behind Natasha’s gaze, her expression growing more somber by the second. “What is it?”_ _

__Her eyes flicked up to look at him, seeing the soft concern he held. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, choosing the right words. “I don’t want you to regret this. I don’t want you to regret me.”_ _

__“Natasha,” Steve said, reaching up to cup her face, thumb brushing over cheekbone, “I could never regret you.”_ _

__The sweetness of the man in front of her stole the air from Natasha’s lungs and she closed the distance between their mouths, lips quivering as they pressed to his. This feeling was rare, she knew, and when he gathered her in his arms, she worried how long something this sweet could survive._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the art on tumblr: https://hopelessartgeek.tumblr.com/post/174548649976/memories-began-to-filter-through-the-haze-of


	2. Conquer Me Completely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky wakes up from cryostasis and begins the work of healing.

_Drink up sweet decadence._  
_I can't say no to you._  
_And I've completely lost myself and I don't mind._  
_I can't say no to you._  
_Shouldn't let you conquer me completely._  
_Now I can't let go of this dream._  
_Can't believe that I feel._  
_Good enough._  


Steve _oof_ ’d when his ass hit the mat, taken to the ground with Natasha’s legs wrapped around his shoulders. His arms were pinned to his sides, unable to move, one of her more effective ways of neutralizing his ability to grab for her. His eyes rolled up to look at her. She grinned down at him, hair curling wildly around her forehead and neck, sweat beading along her brow. He seemed to fall for that particular trick every time.

This time, though, it was because he’d been too distracted to retaliate.

Natasha smelled like musky woman, clean sweat, and the gardenia scent of her shampoo, and it was driving him crazy.

Steve turned his head and nipped her inner thigh through the thin fabric of her loose pants. He watched heat flash in her emerald eyes, her pupils dilating, the air in her lungs passing her lips in a rush. When she released him, falling back to the mat as she de-tangled her legs, Steve didn’t give a second to catch her breath, crawling across the mat so he could set himself above her, his body weight holding her captive.

Natasha opened to the kiss eagerly, her tongue seeking his, fingernails scratching lines down his sweaty biceps. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, hands sifting through her hair then gripping tight, a moan escaping from her mouth. His hand caressed the back of her knee before stretching it to the side, fitting between her legs, showing her exactly how happy he was to be there.

It’d been a week since that first night, when they’d given into the desires burning inside, and Natasha still found herself mesmerized by the feel of him in her arms. Everything Steve did was new, every brush of skin like a page torn from her favorite book, so comfortable. Their days were spent with each other. Breakfast and early morning runs before the sun rose. Lunches with Shuri and T’Challa, catching up on news from back home. Movies that could be ignored when other things took priority.

Days a haze of skin and sighs, learning each other, growing closer. If she’d thought she knew Steve before these days, she’d been wrong. There were expressions that crossed his face that made Natasha’s heart stop beating, so much packed into the blue of his eyes that there’d _always_ be more of him to learn. 

Her tongue curled into his mouth, hearing the rumble of a growl from his chest like an earthquake, speeding her pulse and sending goosebumps up and down her arms. She froze when she heard the door to the small training room open, eyes snapping open and seeing Steve’s alert gaze from inches away.

“Oh! I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize…”

Steve rolled to his knees, taking a deep breath to clear the emotion from his face before he turned toward Shuri. “It’s alright Shuri, we were just -”

“Training,” Natasha rasped as she climbed to her feet, the cool mask she wore devoid of any kind of embarrassment, even as Steve’s cheeks tinted pink.

“Yes. Of course. Training.” Shuri said, lips turning up, an expression saying she didn’t believe them in the slightest. When Steve continued to look at her, an expectant look on his face, Shuri took a step closer. “I believe we’ve completed our work on Sergeant Barnes.”

Steve felt his heart skip a beat as his body went still. At his normal check-in two days prior, the Wakandan princess had told him that they were close but that there was no way of telling how much longer it would take. If she was here…

“Are you sure?” Natasha asked, watching a play of emotions cross Steve’s face.

“I would not wake him if I was uncertain,” Shuri said with a nod. “I believe we have severed the connections that would render his mental programming while maintaining his personality and memories.”

“ _All_ his memories?” When Steve glanced over at her question, Natasha kept her face impassive, wiping it clear.

“Some that occured while he was under their influence may take longer to be recalled, but they will in time return, yes.”

Steve could hear the beating of his heart in his ears, the steady _whoosh whoosh whoosh_ like white noise. Bucky was alright. Bucky was safe. “When?”

“I am beginning the process now, but it will take an hour or so. You said you wanted to be there when he awoke?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve breathed, uncaring how desperate the word sounded, “yes, I want to be there.” When Shuri nodded at him, he swung his gaze toward Natasha, eyes wide, lips parted as he stared at her.

“Go get cleaned up,” Natasha said, hand reaching out to grip his arm, squeezing. “The first thing he sees should be you.”

Steve hadn’t told her that’s what he’d had promised Bucky, but somehow she’d known it anyway. He could feel the frantic, frenzied hope pulsing in his chest and he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to her cheek before he made his way out of the gym.

Natasha watched his progress before he disappeared from sight. Her eyes flicked to Shuri, who was looking at the door as well. “If you were able to do what you said you could,” she started, blinking when Shuri turned toward her, “you just made that man the happiest person in the world.”

“My brother says Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers have been apart long enough. I am happy that I am able to reunite them.” Shuri looked at the other woman for a second before her head cocked to the side softly. “Did you know Sergeant Barnes?”

Keeping her breathing steady, Natasha shook her head. “No, I never knew Barnes.”

Shuri’s eyes took another moment to linger on Natasha before she nodded her head. “If you’d like to be there -”

“No,” Natasha said, giving Shuri a small, polite smile. “This is their moment. Like you said, they deserve it.” Shuri nodded at her one more time before making her way out of the gym. 

Natasha stood, looking down at her feet, a crowd of emotions filling her head with noise. She’d wondered how long this temporary peace she’d found with Steve would last, and she’d just been given her answer. She took a deep breath in, squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine. She crossed to the bench she’d set her things on, taking a seat before reaching for her phone.

She stared at the screen for a second before she pulled up her conversation with Clint. Natasha’s fingers moved quickly over the screen.

**They’re waking Barnes up today**

His response was almost instantaneous.

_Good_  
_U ok?_

**Always**

Steve sat on a chair next to the bed they’d tucked Bucky into. He’d watched their careful movements with an eagle’s eye, trying to understand it all but knowing he failed. He didn’t have the focus, his entire attention on the man who looked so still. It was haunting, really, thinking that he’d been in this same position just a handful of years ago, waking up from his own time in a sort of cryostasis. For Bucky, at least, it hadn’t been seventy years, but only a few months.

Words from behind his shoulder pulled him from his haze, blue eyes swinging to look at the Wakandan Princess. “Sorry, Your Highness, what was that?”

Shuri smiled at his politeness, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “It may take a few minutes for him to wake up. We will be right outside the door should you need us. When he has settled, please let us know, and we will come in to explain what happens next. Take all the time you need.”

Steve nodded, watching as she slipped from the room and closed the door behind her. His gaze turned back to Bucky, the other man’s face slack, his chest rising and falling softly. He took the moment to let his eyes linger on his best friend, following the hollow of his clavicle, tracing a path up and down his arms and the blue veins that hid just under skin.

If it hadn’t been for Natasha, Steve would have been lost the past few weeks. But it was more than that. Steve had felt lost and adrift since he’d been brought back by S.H.I.E.L.D. and Fury. He’d lost his best friend on that train and without him everything had felt different. He’d spent his years with the Avengers in a constant state of motion, going from one mission to the next, never making plans because he knew they would broken.

He hadn’t planted roots, hadn’t tried to build a real life. 

He’d lost his home when Bucky had fallen, and he’d been unable to find one ever since.

But ever since the day he’d found out Bucky was alive, that his best friend _hadn’t_ died, there was a hint of a hope in the back of his mind.

_Maybe._

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe everything he’d lost would return and he’d be able to feel _whole_ again. Looking at Bucky’s face still held him captive, unable to explain the roll of emotions in his chest, and Steve reached out to grip Bucky’s hand in his. His hand was warm, the pads of his fingers soft and without the callouses that had hardened them when they’d been younger. 

Steve sat there, holding Bucky’s hand for what seemed like hours, before he felt the first twitch from Bucky’s fingers. Lifting his head, eyes widening, Steve stared, willing Bucky’s to open. “Bucky?”

Blinking, Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, seeing nothing but a fog of white and light. He felt movement on his right side, feeling like he had marbles in his sockets as his gaze swung to the right. He tried to focus on the blob of color, but couldn’t seem to make anything work. 

Calling his name again, Steve stood, his grip tightening on Bucky’s hand, bending over the bed. “Bucky, can you hear me?”

It felt like Bucky was looking through the scope on his rifle, lining up a shot from thirty-five hundred, waiting for it to focus. As it cleared, he recognized the crystal cool blue eyes before he saw anything else. He knew those eyes. He’d looked into this eyes for years. He had every fleck and imperfection memorized. “Steve?”

Steve smiled, squeezing Bucky’s hand as the other man swallowed. “Yeah, Buck. It’s me.”

“Whas appen? Wher?”

“We’re still in Wakanda. How do you feel?”

Bucky considered his question. Other than being unable to make his mouth form the words he wanted them to, he didn’t really feel anything. He wiggled his toes, his legs tingling as he began to feel them again. His hand twitched against Steve’s, the warmth from the other man chasing away the numbness. He attempted to wave the fingers on his left hand but felt nothing, chin dipping to the left, seeing nothing there. “Wha?”

“You’re okay. They just woke you up. Are you in any pain?”

“No,” Bucky said, swallowing, a bad taste on the back of his tongue as he blinked up at Steve, “no.”

“Do you want me to get -”

“No!” When Steve’s face left his line of eyesight, Bucky grasped as Steve’s hand desperately, not wanting him to go anywhere. “Please.”

“It’s fine, I’m not going anywhere, we’re good.” Steve saw the flash of panic that had taken over Bucky’s face, his grey eyes wide, staring and unblinking as they looked at him. “Shuri says it might be a bit before you feel completely normal, but it’ll just take time. Just a little time, that’s all.”

Bucky nodded, keeping his eyes on Steve, using him as an anchor as the feeling of his own body came back slowly, until he could feel the tingles of disuse running up and down his arms and legs. “How long?”

“You were out for a few months,” Steve answered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, smiling softly down at his best friend. He watched Bucky blink before looking around the room, getting his bearings, his eyes growing clearer by the second. “If you’re feeling anything weird, they’re just outside the door.”

“Did they do it?” Bucky’s eyes ficked toward the door, recognition snapping into them before they looked back at Steve. “Did they get them out?”

“They think they did,” Steve said with a nod, watching a second of relief flow over Bucky’s face before the other man’s jaw clenched tightly.

“You have to say them.” When Steve said nothing, Bucky squeezed his hand harder, more insistent. “Steve, you have to make sure.”

“I know, Buck. I just thought we’d wait -”

“No. I need to know. I _need_ to know.”

Steve could see the fear in Bucky’s eyes, could nearly taste it on the air surrounded them both. He pulled his hand from Bucky’s reluctantly, helping Bucky sit up in the bed. When he was settled, Steve looked at him for a long second, a silent prayer in his mind asking that Shuri and her team were right. He wanted his best friend back. He wanted Bucky back. “Are you ready?”

Bucky’s jaw ticked with how hard he was gritting his teeth, his eyes staring into Steve’s, seeing the hesitance in the only eyes they’d never been able to fully wipe from his mind. He gave the blond a sharp nod.

With help from Natasha, though she hadn’t known the whole reason why she’d been teaching him, Steve had memorized the ten words that had been the trigger Hydra used to control Bucky. The words haunted him and he’d spent countless hours repeating them to himself, making sure his pronunciation left no room for failure.

“ _Желание. Ржaвый. Семнадцать._ ”

Eyes falling closed, Bucky repeated the words over in his head. _Longing. Rusted. Seventeen._ He felt his heart begin to race, sweat break out on his brow. He nodded when Steve stopped speaking, “keep going.”

“ _Рассвет. Печь. Девять._ ” 

Steve’s face fell when a whimper sounded from between Bucky’s lips, watching as his chin began to quiver. _Daybreak. Furnace. Nine._ He wanted to stop, he wanted to tell Bucky that they had _time_ , that they could keep everyone else away from him so there was no _way_ he’d get triggered, but he knew that Bucky needed this. He _needed_ it. Steve needed to be strong, to push his own fears and worries aside and focus on what his best friend needed.

“ _Добросердечный. возвращение на родину. Один._ ”

The shaking began in Bucky’s hand but quickly spread to his shoulders. _Benign. Homecoming. One._ Before long, his entire body was quaking, his teeth clacking like he’d been plunged into ice. Steve knew there was only one word left, one tiny word that could destroy everything he desperately wanted. The word hung on his tongue, unsaid, loathed. His hands were shaking just like Bucky’s body, the enormity of this moment pressing down on him, heavy and unbearable. Bucky’s whisper of his name made it fall.

“ _грузовой вагон._

_Freight Car._ Bucky felt arms wrap around him, their strength impossible, their warmth all encompassing. He felt the first tear slide down his cheek, hot like lava, the tremors shaking his body no longer from fear, but from release. His right arm lifted, clutching at the back of Steve’s shirt, fisting in the fabric as the sobs began.

He’d felt nothing. _Nothing._. The words that had turned him from a man into a weapon, turned him into a boogie man that was used to strike fear and dread into the hearts of men, the words that had stolen his life and made him into a cold-blooded killer no longer held sway over him. It’d worked. They’d dug the barbs out, and though he knew he’d have scars, the poison had been drawn out from beneath his skin.

The tightness in Steve’s chest as Bucky wept clenched like a vice, the relief that his best friend was still there and hadn’t been replaced by the tool of Hydra overwhelming. His hold on Bucky tightened, his own shoulders shaking, tears of his own falling and trailing down his neck. “You’re okay, Buck,” he whispered against Bucky’s skin, “you’re okay now.”

“Are you sure?” Natasha asked once again, her voice even, belying the stab of worry in her chest. “Maybe he needs a few more days -”

“All he’s seen for the past three days are doctors and Shuri,” Steve said, his hand tightening on hers as they walked down the sterile hallway toward the recovery room that Bucky’d been in since he’d been woken up. “He’s going stir crazy. I think a new face would be good.”

 _New face_ , Natasha thought to herself, giving him a soft smile when he looked over at her, his blue eyes so earnest that she felt another swell of affection crash in her chest. There was no way to know how this would go, and for someone who usually planned every mission down the minute details, the risk of unknowable reactions filled her with anxiety.

He pulled his hand from hers as they neared the door and Natasha felt the loss of heat like a punch to the chest. Steve knocked lightly on the door before sticking his head in. 

“Buck? You up for a visitor?”

Bucky looked up at the door, a weathered book in his hand. Shuri had been kind enough to bring him things to read, even if the stuff in the pages was way beyond his scope of understanding. It was enough just to be able to choose to do it for himself. It was like the apartment he’d had between the Triskelion and the bombing at the U.N.. It hadn’t been much, but it’d been _his_. Something for himself. Something _he’d_ wanted.

When Bucky nodded at him, Steve pushed the door open, glancing over his shoulder at Natasha, giving her a small smile. She hesitated for a split second, taking in a breath and holding it as she entered the room. 

Bucky Barnes was sitting on the bed, his legs crossed, wearing a pair of light blue sleep pants and a white tank top. His skin was pale, his hair dark and pulled back from his face, the neutral expression on his face matching her carefully pulled together one. She kept her breathing even, doing everything to keep her outward appearance normal while the storm of apprehension raged inside.

“I know you.”

Natasha’s heart stopped at his words, her body going absolutely still. This wasn’t like before. This wasn’t like the day on the street or when he’d been triggered. There was no hint of the Soldier in the grey of his eyes.

“From the airport,” Bucky said, one of his lips curling up. “You had red hair then, though. Natasha, right?”

The fear that had gripped her faded slightly as she watched the charm she recognized bloom in his eyes. Shuri had said some of his memories would take a bit to return, and it was obvious he didn’t remember her, not like she remembered him. “Natasha Romanoff,” she said with practiced calm, using her training to appear nonchalant. “It’s good to see you up and around, Barnes.”

Steve pulled a chair from the desk and drug it across the floor toward Natasha, setting it down for her before he took a seat at the end of the bed. “Natasha was an agent with me at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Steve said, reaching out to squeeze Bucky’s knee. Ever since Bucky had woken up, Steve had found himself needing to physically touch the other man, almost like his brain needed to make sure this was real, that he was whole, and complete, and really there.

“If you call what you were an ‘agent’,” Natasha said, dryness in her voice. At Bucky’s head tilt, she shrugged her shoulder. “Steve has a problem following orders.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Bucky said, a grin turning his lips as he looked over a Steve with an amused glint in his eyes. “The punk never knew when to shut up and listen.”

“Maybe bringing you here was a mistake,” Steve said, smiling as he looked back and forth between the two of them. “I only need one person turning the screws at a time.”

“He really believes that,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow at Natasha.

“Denial,” Natasha said, looking in Bucky’s storm-grey eyes, wiping her mind of any memories or misplaced emotion. When he grinned at her, showing more teeth then before, a matching smile, though smaller, turned her own lips.

“They say when they’re going to cut you loose?” Steve asked, watching Bucky turn back toward him with a slowly sobering expression.

“Soon,” Bucky said, uncertainty in his voice. “They’re running a few more tests, making sure I’m healthy.”

Natasha saw Steve’s excitement fade slightly, seriousness returning in his eyes. It was something else, seeing him around Bucky, but she understood. Sometimes people brought things out in you just by being there. She’d been cold for so long that being around Clint had been like an explosion of warmth, so different and contrary to everything else that it lit her from the inside. She was different around Barton, and though she’d known Steve would be different around Bucky, seeing it in person was something else entirely.

“Just a little more time,” Steve said, leaning forward to pat Bucky’s knee, “then I’ll break you out of here”

“I think you’ve done enough breaking out for one lifetime,” Bucky said, “maybe two.” When Steve chuckled and shook his head, Bucky turned his attention back to Natasha. “Shuri said he broke into a heavily-secured government prison and made out with a few highly-classified people who are now fugitives. Was one of them you?”

She shook her head, hair brushing along her shoulders. “No, I never got caught.”

“You must have had a better mentor that this mook,” Bucky said, nodding his head in Steve’s direction. 

“I did,” Natasha said, lips thinning, eyes flicking down to stare at the bed.

When Natasha went quiet, Bucky’s gaze swung toward Steve, watching a flash of concern in his blue eyes. He could see something turning in his best friend’s mind, always analyzing, always worried about others and not himself. It was familiar, and Bucky held onto that feeling tightly. “Maybe you can teach him a thing or two.”

“I keep trying but I’m not sure you can teach a _really_ old dog new tricks,” she said, glancing up Bucky, watching the smirk curl his lips, ignoring the ache that solidified in her chest at the expression and the memories it brought to the surface.

“They’re releasing Bucky tomorrow,” Steve said, his pencil scratching across his sketch pad, the half-finished skyline of Birnin Zana on the page. “Shuri says they haven’t found any residual issues from coming out of cryo.”

Natasha glanced up at Steve, his body framed in the window, the mountains and sky of the Wakandan country visible behind him. She tore her eyes away from him and back to the laptop resting on her knees, a blank email open on the screen, the cursor blinking accusingly. “Oh?”

Steve glanced up at Natasha, his eyebrows knitting together at her one word answer. Her face was stoic, her green eyes cast down at the computer. She’d been on it more in the past few days, since he’d begun spending the majority of his day with Bucky, hating that his best friend was by himself.

He left his pad and pencil and crossed the floor toward her, crawling onto the couch beside her. “I think he’ll go crazy if he has to stay there any longer.”

“I seem to recall another soldier who’d demanded he be released from the intensive care unit against medical advice after he’d been fished from the Potomac,” Natasha said, an eyebrow raising as she looked over at him, finger deftly switching the screen to show the New York Times website, a picture of Tony saving a ferry boat taking up most of the home page.

“I was healing around my stitches, Nat,” Steve said with a frown, watching her close her laptop slowly. “Besides, I had a mission.”

“Seems like that mission has come to a complete close,” she said, “you found him and he’s safe. You did it.”

Steve’s hand sought hers, threading their fingers together. “Would have taken a lot longer if you hadn’t helped. I don’t know if I ever said thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Natasha said, watching him inspect her hands, tracing a line on the back with his fingernail. 

“Yes I do. I don’t know if I’d have made it through these last few weeks without you.” Steve held her gaze when it flicked up to look at him, a considering expression in the emerald of her eyes. “You made me strong enough to get through it.”

“You mean I distracted you,” she said, lips pursing, her tone attempting to be amused and not as hollow as she felt.

“No,” Steve said, frowning, “that’s not what I mean. This would have been unbearable without you here. You’re one of my... “ His voice faded, trying to find the right words to explain the feelings in his chest. He knew Natasha had never been one for big words, but he _needed_ her to know how much she meant to him. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Natasha. You’ve saved me, in more ways than I can count.”

His eyes were so honest, so earnest, and Natasha had to swallow past the lump in her throat. “I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t have done for me,” she finally said, squeezing his hand.

Steve looked into her eyes, catching the dark flecks of brown in them, seeing something behind them that he couldn’t decipher. He shifted so he could press his lips to hers, soft and sweet, unsaid words in the kiss. When he pulled back, he could have sworn he saw what looked like grief pass over her face before she gave him a stoic, small smile.

“He can have my room,” Natasha said, cautious in the tone of her voice, careful not to let the ache taint her words.

“I wouldn’t -”

“He deserves a real bed, Steve, after everything he’s been through. And you should be here with him, in case he needs you. I can find somewhere else to sleep.”

“I’m not kicking you out, Natasha,” Steve said, feeling like they were having two different conversations, both with wildly different tones. “The bed in my room is big enough for both of us. It’ll be like it was growing up. I was a lot smaller then, but we’ll make it work.”

The idea of going to bed and not having him at her side filled her with a wave of pain, but Natasha pushed it down, the lessons she’d been taught as a child flooding back. She’d gotten attached to Steve, had made herself vulnerable and soft, and this was the ache that came with doing something so stupid. She didn’t know why he was able to make her forget everything that’d been beaten into her, but something about Steve undid her in ways she couldn’t describe. “It’ll be good for him to have something familiar,” she said, grabbing her laptop and opening it back up.

Steve looked at her for another second, trying to understand the crash of things behind her eyes, but accepting her boundaries, knowing that if she needed or wanted to say something to him, she would. He climbed to his feet, glancing outside as the sun began to set. “You hungry? I can make us something?”

“Sure,” Natasha said, her fingers typing meaningless words, seeing him hesitate in her peripheral vision before making his way into the kitchen. She let the breath in her lungs out slowly, closing her eyes and drawing the steel walls around herself. She knew better than this. The man she’d soon be living with had taught her that lesson with startling clarity.

“Steve, this really isn’t necessary,” Bucky said, his backpack thrown over his shoulder as Steve led them down the halls. He made sure to remember the landmarks on the way - _green jade vase, painting of a mountain glowing purple, orange painting depicting sheep herding_ \- just in case. He was always preparing himself for the next time he had to run. It’d become second nature and even if Steve assured him he could stop, that he was safe, the thought clung to the back of Bucky’s mind like cobwebs.

“What, giving you a place to stay? Of course it is.” Steve frowned looking over at Bucky and the resigned and thoughtful expression on his friend’s face. “You want to just stay in that white room until we can go home?”

“Don’t have a home,” Bucky said, answering Steve’s frown with one of his own. “I just meant I don’t have to stay with you. I’d be fine in a room on my own.”

“You heard what Shuri said,” Steve said, trying his best to temper the chiding tone in his voice but realizing that chastising James Buchanan Barnes came as easily as breathing. He’d heard his Ma do it, heard _his own_ Ma do it, and he’d always had the knack for it himself. “Giving you as close to a normal day as possible is the best kind of healing.”

“She also said letting me make my own choices would do a lot, too.” Bucky reached out, clapping his hand on Steve’s shoulder. His face fell slightly when Steve looked over at him with worry in his gaze.

“Am I pushing you too hard? I don’t mean to,” Steve said, his speech softer, his inflection less certain. 

Bucky’s steps faltered and he came to a stop in the middle of the hallway. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, punk. The fact that you don’t know how to quit is the only reason I’m still alive.”

Steve could see the truth of it in the other man’s eyes and he reached up to lay his hand over Bucky’s, feeling his warmth and taking comfort in it. “I made a promise to you,” he said, watching recognition light in Bucky’s storm-grey eyes, “‘til the end of the line, right?”

The repeating of those words from so long alone, thick with meaning and memory, forced a smile onto Bucky’s lips. “Right,” he answered, thumb brushing over Steve’s clavicle. When he realized he was doing it, Bucky let his arm fall to his side, tearing his eyes from Steve’s and looking down the hall. “Are we close?”

“Last door on the right,” Steve said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He let Bucky lead the way, still wrapped up in the worry that he was pushing Bucky too quickly. He couldn’t imagine what Bucky had been through, what it must have felt like to wake up in a nightmare, realizing your life had been stolen and twisted into something vile. Steve could listen to story after story, but he’d never really understand. He didn’t know if anyone could.

When Bucky came to stand before the door, he glanced back at Steve, looking for some kind of approval. When Steve nodded, Bucky reached out, hearing the buzz of electricity before the lock flipped. He took a deep breath before taking a step inside, eyes sweeping over the interior, brightly lit by the summer sun streaming from outside. 

Natasha pushed off the couch when she’d heard them approach, their voices low but distinct. This end of the palace was so quiet it was easy to forget there was a bustling country just a few floors away. She took in a breath and let it out, her face smoothing of anything except a serene smile, watching as Bucky pushed through the door and looked around. “I see he managed to spring you from the joint without a muss,” she rasped, stilling when his gaze landed on her.

“He did it once so he figures he’s got it handled,” Bucky said, feeling Steve behind him, standing back and to his left. Shuri had told him she’d made a prosthetic, something leagues better than any the Hydra scientists had been able to dream, but he’d told her to wait. He wanted to get comfortable in his own skin before he was introduced to something new.

“Amatuer,” Natasha agreed, one corner of her mouth lifting when she saw Steve direct a soft glare of his Bucky’s shoulder at her. Her eyes flicked to the bag on his arm then to Steve’s empty hands. “That’s all you brought?”

“Didn’t really have much before, have even less now,” Bucky said, watching something pass behind her eyes before she started toward him. There was a determination on her face that was intimidating but impressive, like he’d see it in waves around her small frame if he focused hard enough. Like waves of heat off asphalt. He expected to be hit with fire when she came to stand in front of him, gazing at him like she was looking into his soul. 

“I’ll be back,” Natasha said with a nod, side-stepping around him.

“Where -”

“He’s going to need things. You get him settled, I’ll get what he needs.”

“He can borrow my stuff,” Steve said, a small frown turning his lips down.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You want to share a toothbrush and deodorant?” At Steve’s look of concession, she turned back to Bucky. “Do you have any preferences, or will you be find with whatever I bring?”

“Whatever you want to get me’ll be fine,” Bucky said, doing anything to keep that annoyed look from pointing in his direction longer than it needed to. When Natasha smiled then made her way from the room, Bucky turned to look at Steve with his eyebrows lifted. “She’s…”

“Yes. Yes she really is.”

The elevators doors closed before she let out the shuddering breath she’d been holding inside, chin wobbling as she realized how deep she really was. Natasha curled her hands into fists at her sides, fingernails digging into her palm, using the pain as a distraction. He’d looked at her, the barest of recognition in his eyes, and it’d almost undone everything. 

She was better that this. _She_ was _better_ than _this_. She’d gotten so comfortable around Steve that she’d forgotten how to hold herself back, and leaving her heart on the table in this situation wasn’t an option. She’d give it time. Natasha knew it was only a matter of time before Tony cleared the way for them to go home, and when that day came, she’d be on her own again, all of this just a memory. She wasn’t naive. She knew what the cards of fate had in store for her.

By the time the elevator doors slid open, her face was cleared of the turmoil she felt inside, smoothed into a smile that she showed to anyone who glanced in her direction. It was easier to think of this as her mission, falling back into old habits; her mission had been to keep Steve from falling apart, and her obligation had been met. Her new objective? Keep herself together until extraction.


	3. Waiting For The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky begins remembering, confronting Natasha about their past. The three grow closer.

_I feel good enough._  
_It's been such a long time coming,_  
_But I feel good._  
_And I'm still waiting for the rain to fall._  
_Pour real life down on me._  
_'Cause I can't hold on to anything._  


“ _You could at least recognize me…_ ”

Bucky shot up in bed, the sheet falling from his hand where he’d gripped it, the fabric pooling in his lap. He glanced to his right on the bed, waiting for Steve to wake, holding his breath. When he didn’t, Bucky took it as some kind of miracle, knowing how closely Steve was watching him. He’d been having regular nightmares, faces like smoke, his hands wrapped around their necks, just like he’d held Natasha’s a few months ago when Zemo had triggered him.

But this hadn’t been a nightmare. This had been a _memory_. On the heels of that memory was a deluge of others, half-remembered and fractured, disjointed and confusing. Shuri had instructed that sleep - real, true, and honest sleep - was the best thing he could do to heal, to recover what he’d lost.

He slid from the bed as Natasha’s voice echoed in his head, somehow sounding younger and older at the same time. He closed the bathroom door behind him, flipping on the light and instantly regretting it, squinted against the brightness. He took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, running his hand over his face. “Jesus, fuck,” he murmured, shoving his hair out of his eyes. 

Bucky kept his voice down, not wanting to wake Steve, not sure how he’d explain what was happening in his head. At first, he’d tried to push his unexplainable feelings aside, convincing himself that Natasha felt familiar because he’d heard so much about her from Steve, or what he remembered from the handful of times he’d seen her before they’d fled to Wakanda and he’d gone under. 

But that wasn’t right. Every time he looked at her, stoic and reserved, a single word had reverberated in his mind, like a whisper from his past.

_Natalia._

Her name ( ~~not her name~~ ) was always buffered by flashes of a recalled history that had been wiped with everything else.

_Red hair and green eyes._

_Freckles dusting across her nose._

_Broken knuckles and a sprained ankle._

Images without sound or smell or taste shimmered in front of his eyes, but he _felt_ the truth in them like a bell ringing in his head. They were softer than the other memories he carried, but just as loaded with emotion. 

As the memories assaulted him, he could feel every blow from her delicate frame, flinching on reflex, expecting to see the bruises shaped like her fists when he looked at himself in the mirror. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, though her eyes had always seemed so much older.

She was a brunette in Budapest, her skin so pale as she wandering through the art gallery, hand gently in the elbow of her mark. Her deep laugh rasped as she sipped champagne, the green of her dress a deep emerald, cut so low in the back that she couldn’t have been wearing anything underneath of it, the color seeming to make her eyes glow.

The memories of that night were stolen by others, less clear but imprinted on his mind nonetheless.

Something in him knew that she wasn’t expendable when he took the shot, years later. Some part of him reasoned that he could complete his objective without adding to his killcount. When he’d pulled the trigger, he knew it would be a bad injury but that she’d recover. He’d made his target and left.

_Curls, loose around her face._

He did remember her, now. As all the other faces in his memories, she was like a ghost, half-formed and foggy, movements and plans that were colored by the mission. _Something_ about copper-haired beauty had stayed his hand, where elsewhere the use of deadly force wouldn’t have made him flinch.

The only other time he could remember pausing was when Steve had called his name on that D.C. street. All that Hydra technology and the manhad ripped through it with one word. After the time spent with Steve in childhood, the years growing up together, the familiarity of the other man in his bones, it made sense that he’d broken through the fog of programming. 

Natalia doing so, though on a much smaller scale, couldn’t be explained as easily.

There were more memories buried deeper, he could feel them on the edges of his woken thoughts, but they were intangible, another latent defect of his conditioning. Bucky could feel something there, some importance he couldn’t fully understand with the scant recollections of his dreams.

Running his hand over his face, Bucky knew further sleep would be impossible, not with the tumble of thoughts in his head, which was often too loud to manage anyway. He crossed to the sink, splashing water on his face, letting his head hang between his shoulders as he breathed past his thundering heart beat.

They’d known each other, that much was clear, but she’d said nothing. Why? Why would she pretend they’d never met? There had to be a reason she bit her tongue, but the answer was like so many of the others he sought - just out of his reach. He jumped when a knock sounded at the door, Steve’s tentative and worried voice on the other side.

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, the words echoing around the room. Steve must have accepted his answer because he moved away, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts and half-understood truths.

He glanced up at himself in the mirror, at the dark bags that colored the skin below his eyes, the haunted look as he remembered things that made no sense. Bucky needed to know what had happened, why his mind filled with noise when he looked at her, and she was the only one who could make sense of it all.

Bucky was tired. Steve could see it written across the other man's face, staining the skin under his eyes with purple. Also in the way Bucky's shoulders hunched forward, hand wrapped around the mug of coffee. Steve's gaze poured over the rest of Bucky, looking for more information, over analyzing how worried he needed to be about his best friend. The nightmares were thick, waking the both of them: Bucky because he couldn't find sleep after the dark memories the dreams had drudged up, and Steve because seeing the amount of _hurt_ Bucky was in kept him from rest.

Seeing the pain that Bucky hid behind made Steve's heart ache. It'd never been particularly easy for him to see his best friend hurting, and knowing how much it weighed on him was taking its toll. He wanted to tell Bucky something that would make it better, but knew there weren't words to ease the suffering. The things that had been done to Bucky were monstrous, and not for the first time, Steve felt the grip of guilt around his heart.

He'd relived the day Bucky had fallen from the train over and over, every minuscule detail in perfect clarity, seared into his brain. It was only after the Winter Soldier had lost his mask, revealing the all-too familiar face below it, that Steve realized what had happened. The blast from one of Schmidt's goons, blowing open the metal, Bucky gripping tight but just out of reach. The scream when he hadn't been able to stretch far enough, Bucky's hands spasming in the air as he fell.

It was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. _Until_ the day on that street, being taken in by a S.H.I.E.L.D. team that used to be his but was full of Hydra operatives.

It was then, sitting in the back of that armored transport van, that the reality of his choices had punched the air out of his lungs.

Bucky hadn't died in the fall. Whatever Zola had done to him before Steve had rescued him and the rest of the 107th had given Bucky the ability to survive what had happened. Zola had recovered him, wiped his mind, built someone else up in his place and turned him into a weapon. But everything that occurred after Bucky's fall had been because _Steve_ hadn't gone back, because he hadn't tried to find Bucky's body, so he could be given a proper burial. 

If he would have just _looked_ for his best friend, made certain that he was truly gone, _all_ of this would have been avoided. 

Steve wasn't going to leave Bucky's side. Everything had gone wrong when they'd been separated by the war and he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He know they couldn't go back, no matter how hard he wanted them to, but it was Steve's sole mission to make it like it'd been before the war, when it'd been them in Brooklyn, side by side. The times were difficult, barely scraping by, but they'd been happy. Bucky's smile, so wide and charismatic, was so stunning that it made Steve's mouth go dry and his knees knock together, wondering how someone with so much charm would bother spending time with such a weak, uncoordinated, sickly boy when he could have chosen everyone as a friend.

All Bucky had gotten out of Steve's friendship was trouble. He was constantly having to save Steve from the latest bully, the blond not knowing when to keep his mouth shut, how to bite his tongue when he saw something wrong. Besides his penchant for starting fights he couldn't finish, the days of sickness and hunger were unending. He knew for a fact that Bucky had gone without dinner just so Steve could have more to eat, brushing it off as if his stomach wasn't empty and growling, convincing Steve that he'd eaten a large lunch, even though Steve saw right through his lies.

The nights that were cold enough that they'd huddled together under Ma Rogers' quilt, talking about what it would be like once they got out of Brooklyn, the life they'd be able to build when their lives came together. _It's gonna happen for us, Steve,_ Bucky had said with such confidence, running his hands up and down Steve's arms, trying to warm them. _Just you wait and see_.

When Bucky'd enlisted, looking for a life of service and finally earning his due as the tactician he was, Steve felt a swell of pride in his chest when he looked at his best friend, so strong and deserving. On the heels of that pride was an endless list of other emotions.

 _Fear_ that Bucky could get hurt, or worse, thousands and thousands of miles away.

 _Jealousy_ that Steve couldn't follow him, no matter how hard he tried.

 _Affection_ beating heavy in his chest when he saw Buck in his uniform, somehow making the grey of his eyes brighter, the smirk on his lips sharper. It was breathtaking.

Bucky had tried _so hard_ to keep Steve from enlisting, trying to convince him that there was plenty of work that could be done in the states, but Steve fought him on it every time. He knew he was small, he knew there was every chance he might not make it home, but that was true for so many men who were overseas fighting. Despite his desire to serve his country, to put his life on the line like countless other men, to help wherever and however he could, he couldn't help but hear a small voice in the back of his mind. 

Steve wasn't sure he knew who he was if Bucky Barnes wasn't at his side.

Knowing he was being left behind had been almost too much to accept. If he hadn't run into Erskine, if he'd never been given the serum and hadn't become Captain America, Steve wasn't sure he'd have survived losing Bucky. The trajectory of their lives would have been irrevocably changed if _just one_ thing had occurred different than it had. If Steve hadn't run into Erskine, he wouldn't have become Captain America. If he hadn't become Captain America, he wouldn't have been overseas and in a position to know the 107th had been captured and were being held with no plan of rescue. If he hadn't been in Europe, the 107th would have most likely been killed or left for Zola to experiment on. 

Absolutely everything that had happened in Steve's life could be traced back to Bucky. A lifetime of 'what ifs' and 'maybes' would never change how much his best friend influenced him every day, Even now, in a secret country in Africa, days after being brought out of cryostasis to remove the programming that had been done to him, Bucky was still dominating Steve's thoughts, just like it'd been when they were kids. Bucky'd always been able to pull a strength of emotion from him, and Steve had always been helpless. Rational thought was hard when he was looking at Bucky, just wanting to see that radiant smile, the one that seemed to light up the room. 

Both of them might have serum running through their veins, but that was one superpower Bucky'd developed all on his own.

Steve straightened when Bucky rose from his stool at the kitchen counter, a tension between his shoulder blades as he rinsed out his mug. Steve closed the notebook he'd doodling in, giving his best friend a smile when Bucky turned to look in his direction. "You ready for a run?"

Bucky hesitated, a look of tiredness flashing over his face before it was pushed aside, nodding once before he started toward the bedroom to change. Steve's gaze swung toward Natasha's room, wondering if she was awake already. He debated knocking on her door before thinking better of it. She'd been busy over the last week, out of their rooms more than she was in them, and when he'd seen her last, she'd shared much of the same sleep-deprived hallmarks with Bucky. He hoped Bucky's nightmares weren't keeping her up, too, but he had a feeling they were.

"You ready?"

Steve turned back toward Bucky, watching as the other man pulled a shirt over his head, taking in a deep breath then letting it out. "Yeah, Buck. I'm ready."

“If you’re looking for Steve, he’s not here. T’Challa called him into a meeting,” Natasha said. She left her eyes closed, breathing out slowly, feeling the hair on her arms and neck raise in alarm at the man who’d joined her in the empty gym.

Bucky let the door hush shut behind him, the quietness in the small room pressing in on him. He’d gotten used to their rooms in the living quarters. It’d taken him a few days to make sure he had every inch of it scouted, that there were no places anyone could surprise them from. Steve had been glued to his side for the better part of a week, showing him around, taking him out in the fresh air, getting him some sun.

It felt good to have Steve at his side. He knew the weeks he’d been in cryo hadn’t been easy, and coming on the heels so soon after they’d arrived in Wakanda had weighed in his best friend’s mind, but Steve had come out of it better, with an optimism that Bucky marveled at. After all the trials and tribulations, the abuse and fear and betrayal, the boy he’d grown up with still managed to shine with a light that refused to stay dim.

It was infectious, in a way, and Bucky had used it to prepare himself for this conversation, seizing the first opportunity when he would be able to speak with Natasha without Steve overhearing. He wasn’t _hiding_ this from Steve, not on purpose, but Bucky needed to know why the woman (who’d haunted his dreams more in the past week than he wanted to admit) was there in his memories in the first place. And, to those same ends, why she hadn’t acknowledged the history that seemed to connect them.

“I’m not looking for Steve,” Bucky said, leaving his arm at his side, his hand empty. When she opened her eyes and stared at him, he felt something like an electric current travel up his spine, somehow knowing that her emerald gaze was able to bore down, into his very core, and scramble everything.

The look on his face was cautious, like he expected her to bolt at any second, and Natasha had to admit that the option had flashed through her mind when she’d opened her eyes and seen his expression. It’d only been a week since he’d moved in, and without so much as a peep, she’d started to wonder if they’d get to avoid this altogether, that perhaps Hydra had pushed too hard and wiped the entirety of her from his mind.

From the way he continued to stare at her, it was obvious that wasn’t the case. “Something I can help you with?” she asked, staying seated on the mat, legs crossed under her, hands resting softly on her knees. Whatever calm her stretching and meditation had given her was immediately undone, a line of tension straightening her spine the longer he looked at her.

“I know you,” Bucky said, his voice even, not wanting to sound too accusing, a ghost in his ear reminding her how deadly her tongue could be when she was pushed her too far.

“Yes. We’ve met several times now. We share a kitchen.” The words were flat of affect, chosen carefully and spaced comfortably. Natasha kept her tone polite, a serene smile on her face, the mask she wore in public for those that didn’t know better.

“No. From before. I know you from _before_... before I got away from Hydra.”

She felt a childish hope clutch at the possibility that he was remembering something else, something easier than the rest. “Yes, we crossed paths once. I was in the way and you shot your target through me. Obviously I survived.”

Bucky shook his head, a brush of annoyance as she was deliberately ignoring what he’d said. “From before that.”

“I don’t know what -”

“Natalia.”

The name froze the air in Natasha’s lungs, her body going quiet as he looked at her, the expression on his face telegraphing that he felt the same rush of emotion at that name falling from his lips. There was a _whoosh_ ing sound in her ears, the beating of her heart like an alarm, every nerve in her body fraying at once. 

“Don’t,” she said as a warning, very carefully climbing to her feet, a voice in her head wanting her to run from the room while simultaneously itching to break his jaw so he couldn't say her name like _that_ again. It was too familiar, brought too many memories and feelings to the surface that she’d pushed down into the deepest, darkest parts of her. “Stop.”

“Why would you -” When she took a step away from him, Bucky mirrored the movement, lifting his hand, showing he was unarmed. “Please. I just want to know what happened. I only… it’s only bits and pieces. Just flashes.”

“It doesn’t matter what happened.” 

“It does to me,” Bucky said, his tone thick, swallowing past the anxious lump in his throat, the hint that something was important. The way she was looking at him confirmed some of the emotions in his chest when he looked at her, the strength of them stealing the breath from his lungs. It’d grown over the past week, moving in the same space as her, feeling a comfortability that hadn’t been earned, not in the amount of time he’d spent with her since coming out of cryo.

Natasha shook her head, fingers digging into her palms, looking down at his feet, refusing to look Bucky in the eyes, knowing the effect they’d had on her in the past. “I don’t -”

“ _Please_ ,” he pleaded, seeing the pain in her eyes when her eyes slowly rose to lock with his. “I have to know.”

There was pleading in his storm-grey gaze, and just like it always had, Natasha felt her walls crumble the longer she looked at him. Her shoulders sagged, the tension bleeding from her body, replaced with resignation. Bucky had been through so much, _lost_ so much, and she knew she couldn’t deny him his history, even if it tore her apart. Even if it tore Steve apart, too.

Eyebrows knitting together, Natasha turned away from him and crossed to the wall. She slid down it, pulling her knees to her chest, feeling like the child she’d been when she’d first met the man who was looking at her, eyes seeking some kind of truth. “I was still in training when they brought you in.”

Her voice sounded so different, so much smaller than he’d heard from her since he’d woken. Bucky crossed to her slowly, watching her green gaze track his movement. He sat across from her, crossing his legs, giving her enough space but still allowing him to look in her eyes. “Your program?”

“The Red Room,” Natasha answered with a nod of her head. “I’d been training for years but I struggled against them. I questioned, hadn’t deadened myself enough for their approval, so they had to find a way to bring me under their thumb.”

The memory floated to the surface at her words, recalling the first time they’d been introduced, remembering the way she’d looked up at him, mouth parting as she’d stared. “I was a teacher.”

Seeing him remember in real time made something ache in Natasha’s chest. She’d been dealing with these memories for years, more so since meeting Steve and putting all the pieces together, but for Bucky it was like he was remembering for the first time. “They used you to teach me a lesson. You weren’t the same person. You weren’t Bucky, you were -”

“You called me _Моя луна_ , or James,” Bucky finished for her, eyes unfocusing, breath leaving in a rush.

Natasha stared at a spot on the wall to the right of Bucky’s head, forgetting that he was there, letting the memories she’d pushed side for so long rise to the surface. “We spent time together. Too much time. I was so young and you were the first man I’d ever…” She shook her head, arms tightening around her knees. 

“I didn’t know any better. I formed an emotional attachment, let myself be vulnerable, _made_ myself vulnerable. It was their intention all along. They made me feel. It was just a mission. _I_ was just a mission. They staged your death, sent me on the trail of your supposed murderer. It was my first kill. After that, they all came easier. It made me a better killer. I learned my lesson, just like they wanted.”

She glanced up, heart stopping at the look on his face, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her in confusion. “I was a mission they sent you on. It wasn’t real.”

“Nata -” When she bristled at the beginning of her name, Bucky let the word trail off, unsaid. He could feel this giant piece of the puzzle in front of him, something she didn’t know. It was heavy, too heavy to keep hidden. Preparing himself for what it would meant, he took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “I didn’t know it was a mission.”

Natasha looked at him, at the expression on his face, pulse racing. “What?”

“They built me, wiped me clean and built someone else in my place. _Яков_ was… it was me. They needed it to be real, to _feel_ real, so they built me a different life, _that_ life, and made me believe... “

Heart dropping into her stomach, Natasha’s head tilted as she looked at him, ghosts fading in and out behind those grey eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that’s why I remember you. It was… it was real, for me. _You_ were real. I believed what they’d made. They moved me in place, but I didn’t know it wasn’t real. All I knew was you, and what I felt.” Bucky watched the doubt creep into her gaze, the denial on her lips as they parted, her pulse beating quickly below the skin of her neck. “It was real to me.”

“No,” Natasha breathed with a shake of her head, head pressing back against the mirror, “it wasn’t. It was just a mission.”

“Natalia -” Bucky saw her flinch, like he’d slapped her across the cheek. “ _Natasha_ ,” he corrected himself, blinking when her eyes opened to look at him. “I didn’t know it was anything but what it felt like. I remember the things I did, when it was just the Soldier and not me, but the time I spent training you, the time I spent _with_ you…” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, burning through his nose, chest aching with the truth of it. Bucky swallowed past the lump of useless anger and sadness in his throat. “You were the only light part in all the darkness.”

Natasha stared at him, the coolness of the glass behind her head grounding her, giving her an anchor as the weight of what Bucky was saying settled around her shoulders like a yoke, too heavy to hold, too much of a burden to believe. “They used you to break me.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, knowing it meant nothing, certain that nothing he could say would act as a balm to what had been done to them. The silence that fell around them was thick and he had trouble breathing it in. “I remember seeing you again. You were protecting someone. My target.”

She nodded, mesmerized by his eyes when they unfocused, the memory playing over his face. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“I knew it was you,” he said, looking up at her sharply, “somehow I knew. The Soldier never missed. He wasn’t _allowed_ to miss.” Bucky’s face screwed up in anger, feeling the punishment in his body all over again, their rage at his mistake being taken from his flesh. “I could have killed you. I _should_ have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” he said, eyes clearing to gaze into hers as he shook his head softly. “No I didn’t.” 

The enormity of it all pressed on Natasha’s chest, an ache she had trouble thinking past. “It wasn’t you. I know what they did to you. I know what it’s like to be ripped apart and turned into someone else.” A dark smile lifted one corner of her mouth, the chuckle rumbling in her chest hollow. “In a way, I don’t think I’d still be alive if you hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t learned to lock that part of me away.”

He was sure her words were supposed to be said with gallows humor, but Bucky felt them like a knife in his heart. “I didn’t… if I had _known_ , if I’d just realized -”

“Don’t,” Natasha said, looking up at him sharply. “Don’t do that. What happened happened. We can’t change that. I mourned you. I made my peace with it all, as much peace as I could find.”

It was Bucky’s turn to smile, the tint self-deprecating. “I’m not sure I know what peace feels like anymore.”

Natasha stared at him, flicking from his lips, to his eyes, to the pain she could see underneath it all. It was hard enough for her to reconcile what she’d done in her past, and she only had the one. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for him, suddenly confronted with the truth that he might have had countless lives of rust and ruin over the years.

“Let me help you,” she said, holding his gaze when his eyes swung to her. “I know it’s not much, but I at least owe you that.”

Bucky looked for any hint of ulterior motives in her expression, but he saw none. He just saw what he was sure he’d see if he looked in a mirror: pain and regrets that meant nothing and uncertainty on what to do next. “You don’t owe me anything, Nat,” he said, not sure if he’d be able to call her _Natasha_ without it tasting bitter on his tongue, remembering everything that’d happened what felt like a lifetime ago.

“Yes, I do.” When he didn’t argue further, she gave him a soft smile, resting her chin on her knees as she looked at him, watching a hesitant grin grow on his face. It was a different smile than she was used to, the charm and charisma that sparked in her memories dimmed by circumstance, but Natasha could see the hint of it under all the trauma, like the first green shoots pushing through the thawing spring dirt.

A whisper of new beginnings, tearing through the cold to form something new.

When Steve pushed through the door to their rooms he paused at the sound of Natasha’s laughter. He looked toward her door and saw it slightly ajar, wondering if she was talking with Clint again. Once the archer had returned home, they’d managed to set up a line that couldn’t be traced, courtesy of Wakandan’s premiere scientist. He’d just gotten done meeting with the sixteen-year-old himself, and glanced around the living area, looking for Bucky.

His eyebrows raised when he heard Bucky’s laughter join Natasha’s, a deep, dark rumble that seemed to vibrate all the way through Steve’s chest. He dropped his bag on the floor - several prototype weapons he’d taken for testing thumping against the hardwood - and crossed toward Natasha’s room.

He hesitated on the other side of the door, hearing the hum of their voices while not being able to make out any of their words. Steve wasn’t eavesdropping, not really, he was just taking a moment to appreciate the change over the past month.

While he was still woken up by nightmares a few times a week, Bucky had more good days than bad. Steve found himself waking when Bucky would toss and turn, the moonlight illuminating the bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his best friend’s chest. His face would shift from the strong, serene lines of peaceful rest, into something troubled, his eyebrows furrowing at whatever memories were flashing through his mind. 

Steve’s hand had itched to reach out and smooth the lines from Bucky’s face with his fingertips, his arms longing to gather his best friend and assure him that the nightmares would pass, that it would just take time and that he wasn’t going _anywhere_. Hearing Bucky’s laughter made something in Steve’s chest loosen, happy to hear the sound, wondering what had caused it.

“I’m actually glad photos weren’t allowed,” Bucky said with a shake of his head. “The fashion at the time -”

Natasha clicked her tongue, dipping her chin in his direction. “Are you saying you _didn’t_ enjoy leg warmers, turtlenecks, and side ponytails?”

“It worked on certain people.” The smile on Bucky’s face felt _good_ , and honest, and when he thought of the progress he’d made in the last month, it made a swell of optimism rise in his chest. Under Steve’s protective gaze and Natasha’s steady guidance, he was beginning to feel more like himself, or some amalgamation of the two lives he remembered.

It was too easy to fall back into the routine he’d had with Steve from before the war, before he’d ever enlisted, when he and Steve had make life work just the two of them. Their apartment had been small, cozy and threadbare, but they’d made it a home. They’d made it _their_ home. Even after everything, the serums and experimentation, the pain and loss, living in the same space had come back with little effort.

Bucky was _used_ to living with Steve, knew what it felt like to share the same bed, to fall asleep and wake up next to his warmth. The world they’d grown up in had its own challenges, bigotry and discrimination, and it hadn’t always been easy, but in that tiny apartment, they’d built up a world of their own. Steve had been an artist, his fingers nimble and covered in charcoal dust, covering their walls with sketches, all of them beautiful. Bucky had cooked for them, using the skills his Ma had taught. 

In their own space, Bucky’d been able to steal glances, his eyes lingering on the hollow of Steve’s throat, the divot in his clavicle, the sweep of honey-colored fringe across his forehead. He wasn’t sure how Steve had never caught him staring. If he had, his best friend had chosen to say nothing about it, leaving it unsaid. The fear of _losing_ Steve due to his feelings was too much to risk, so Bucky had watched in silence, aching with want but too afraid to ruin everything.

Though his memories with Natasha were newer, and tinted with the knowledge that it’d been built on a lie, he found himself sliding toward her with familiarity. He remembered her dry humor, the glint in her emerald eyes when she said something specifically looking for a exasperated reaction. Her words could be so sharp one second, then embarrassingly soft the next. A dichotomy that had fascinated him from the first time they’d met.

Every time he could feel the darkness begin to bleed in from the edges, it was like she knew, somehow able to pull him out of the grey, never letting him remain there, pulling him back into the light, into the _present_.

“No one looked good with a side ponytail,” Natasha said with a roll of her eyes, clicking on the next video, the pair of them having fallen down a cat-video-youtube rabbit hole. She remembered now how much James had loved technology, the sci-fi novels he always carried with him, piles of them on his nightstand and on a shelf in his kitchen in the tiny apartment he’d had in Moscow.

Natasha had gone completely still two weeks ago when she’d found Bucky reading one on the couch, her memories flashing. It wasn’t just part of the cover persona and story the Red Room had created for him, it was a part of _him_ that had filled in the gaps. It struck her deeply, realizing that while it was true his backstory had been manufactured, she might have gotten to know the real James Buchanan Barnes, or as much of him as he was able to bleed.

She’d grabbed her laptop and pulled up the adorable animal videos because she’d seen a lost look in his eyes, an uncertainty in the depths of his gaze that she’d recognized. He’d needed a distraction, and showing him videos of cats had been an attempt at giving him one. She hadn’t expected to come across a video of a fat, hairy orange tabby that looked _eerily_ like the one that’d lived down the hall from his flat. It was hard to reminisce about that time without it hurting, but it was easier when they focused on the better things, pushing past all the pain, in a way normalizing what had happened by ignoring the ache and giving power to the light parts they could recall. 

When Bucky’s hand reached out, wrapping one of her curls around his finger, she felt the air rush out of her lungs. It was something he’d done before, all those years ago, something that’d made her barely eighteen-year-old knees go weak. Now it was a reminder of the emotions he’d pulled from her, her first real blush with a relationship, naive and innocent and vulnerable. She knew it was all new for him, having just gotten those memories back, but it made her stomach drop and her pulse speed.

Bucky realized what he was doing, touching her without permission, and his hand froze, uncertain why it’d been done on instinct, a habit he’d just remembered having. He felt pulled in three separate directions: he wanted to be Bucky Barnes again, Steve Rogers’ best friend, the charming, charismatic soldier who was loyal and true; he knew what it was like to be _Моя луна_ , James, the Red Room trainer who’d formed a connection with a petite copper-haired operative who looked at him with eyes so wide that he could drown in them.

And there, alongside the two versions of himself, was a third. A man who’d loved and lost, remembered and been wiped, and the shell that was the only thing left after being ripped apart and put back together again. He had two lifetime’s worth of memories and a seemingly unending torrent of emotions that he couldn’t reconcile.

“The blonde’s nice, too,” Bucky said, letting his hand fall away from her, watching her pulse beat beneath the skin of neck. “A little off brand, but nice.”

“That’s why I did it,” Natasha breathed, forcing herself to slow her breathing, to temper the crush of thoughts his touch had unleashed, “something that’s just me and not them.” She looked into the slate storm of Bucky’s eyes and could see a matching understanding, knowing he understood what it felt like to need something that was yours and yours alone. For the longest time, that’d been _him_ , the memories of her first love, the man whose death had made her into who she was, or at least who she’d been before Clint, and Nick, and Ste -

Both Natasha and Bucky tensed, hearing a floorboard squeak on the other side of the door, their gazes swinging in that direction, Natasha’s fingers tightening around the knife she’d tucked under her pillow.

Steve knocked his knuckles against the door, pushing it open as he stuck his head in when he heard their talking cease. “It’s just me,” he said, watching as the tension drained from both of their bodies. He gave them a bashful smile, feeling his cheeks tint pink. They both looked comfortable, at ease, and he felt something in his chest unclench the longer he looked at them. The friendship he’d seen grow over the last few weeks had made Steve immeasurably happy. He’d always thought that they’d get along, and being proven right warmed him to his bones.

His eyes swept, catching things he hadn’t noticed on first glance. Bucky’s hair was pulled back from his face, a small bun at the nape of his neck. Since he hadn’t worn a prosthetic since they’d taken him out a cryo, it meant he’d had some help. Steve tried not to think about Natasha’s hands expertly gathering the dark strands and holding them tight, baring his best friend’s sharp cheekbones and grey eyes he’d tried capturing in charcoal but never managed to get right. They shared a soft pink color on their faces, shifting on the bed so there was more space between them from when he’d first entered the room. “Shuri wanted me to let you know that you’re overdue for a visit,” he said toward Bucky with a nod and a smile, pushing the deeper, more confusing thoughts aside.

Whatever bubble had enveloped the pair while they’d reminisced about things that’d happened a lifetime ago popped at Steve’s entrance. It was an odd sensation, feeling like she’d been doing something wrong. There was a quiet hesitation in her body when Natasha realized how seamlessly she'd fallen back into the man beside her on the bed. She looked up at Steve, who was smiling softly at the pair of them, and felt a stab of remorse; she'd given the blond the room he'd needed, letting him focus on Bucky and the soldier's recovery. She missed the time she'd spent with Steve, reliving it in her mind, remembering what it'd been like to give into the desire that had curled inside of her for years.

It wasn't a feeling of _guilt_ so much as an acknowledgment that there were things Steve didn't know. She'd thought it'd be easy to keep her distance, to let their past die and stay buried, but as Bucky remembered more and more, she found herself drawn back into James' orbit, holding onto the hints of the man she'd loved and lost. He wasn't the same person, and the logical rational part of her knew that, but when she gazed into his grey eyes, so familiar, so _full_ , it was hard. 

' _You don't forget your first love,_ ' was the saying, and while she had always seen love as a vulnerability, a way to be punished, James was from a time before she'd learned that devastating lesson. 

Bucky watched Natasha shut her laptop, setting it on her nightstand before climbing to her feet. "I know," he said, eyes following her movements, "I've got an appointment with her tomorrow to try out a new prosthetic. She just likes to be pushy."

Steve frowned as Natasha neared, her eyes cast down toward her feet. When she neared, his hand reached out to brush her arm, the petite woman coming to a stop. "You okay?"

Natasha glanced up at Steve, clearing her face of anything but a serene smile. "Of course. I'm meeting Okoye for dinner and just lost track of time."

"You sure?" Steve considered himself somewhat of an expert when it came to analyzing and recognizing when Natasha was lying to him. It'd taken years of careful study, but he could see it in her face, in the crinkles at the corner of her mouth and the sweep of her gaze focusing on one of his eyes and then the other. There was something in the green depths of her eyes that held her back, kept her from revealing the thoughts tumbling in her head.

"I'm good, Steve," she said, her smile warming the longer she stared into those baby blue eyes of his. Natasha glanced over her shoulder at James, gaze lingering for a second.

The tableau Steve and Natasha made was like something from a Renaissance artist. They both had pale skin, his carrying a hint more pink and hers more like alabaster, and their features were in strict contrast to the violence Bucky knew laid just under the surface. Steve's hand on Natasha's arm was soft, but sure, and as they smiled at each other, Bucky couldn't help but wanting the moment to freeze so he could look at them, side by side, not comparing so much as appreciating. When Natasha's eyes flicked up to look at him, Bucky held steady until she turned and disappeared from sight.

Steve followed Natasha's retreating form until she slipped from the rooms, the door falling shut behind her. He blinked, glancing down at his feet, not sure why she was hiding something from him but knowing that she'd reveal it when it became necessary. He trusted her implicitly, and if she wanted to keep quiet about something, he was more than willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Turning back to Bucky, Steve was struck once again how much _better_ the other man looked since he'd first been taken out of cryo and moved in. "You look good, Buck."

One of Bucky's eyebrows lifted, an easy shrug lifting his shoulders. "As Shuri likes to say 'I woke up like this,'" he joked, feeling more confident as the days drug on. At Steve's snort of laughter, Bucky's smile grew. "She rope you into helping test some new weapons?"

"You know how persuasive she is," Steve said, wandering further into the room, coming to stand next to the bed, "pretty hard to argue with a literal genius."

"And yet you have no problem arguing with me."

The chuckle Bucky's comment earned rumbled through Steve's chest, his hand reaching out to affectionately clamp on Bucky's shoulder. "You might have won over a few girls with a bunk line about being a genius, but I know better."

Bucky grinned up at his best friend, the blond's hand warm against his skin, the way Steve's thumb brushed over his clavicle causing gooseflesh to rise on his arm. "Yeah? What bunk line would it take to win _you_ over?"

Steve stared down at Bucky and the charming smile on his face, uncertain why his pulse sped up at the expression, why his body seemed to heat from his toes and all the way to the tip of his ears. He laughed again, squeezing Bucky's shoulder once more before pulling his hand back. "If I hear one, I'll be sure to let you know."

Nodding, Bucky looked down at his hand, a flash of embarrassment turning his stomach. It took another second before he could look back up at Steve, clearing his eyes of the ache that always came when he remembered that his best friend had never shown an ounce of interest, in him or any other man. Moved to action by the heavy cloud of frustration that had settled over him, Bucky climbed to his feet. "You hungry? There was a little food cart on the corner that looked pretty good."

The fact that Bucky was asking to walk around outside the palace _at his own urging_ spoke to far he'd come in the past weeks. Steve's smile brightened as he nodded his head. "After you."

It happened on a Tuesday.

There wasn't anything particularly special about the day, and what happened wasn't some kind of ' _aha!_ ' moment where everything came together in startling clarity, but as the scene played out in front of her eyes, Natasha couldn't help but wonder how she hadn't seen it before.

The summers in Wakanda were hot and steamy and the three of them had taken to trekking toward the mountains for their afternoon runs. The city streets were too busy, music and shopping and the mass of people feeling oppressive in the heat. Finding an escape sounded like the best idea, and since there was nothing really keeping them in the palace, Shuri had told them about one of the cabins her father had kept in the hills and valleys of the ranges that formed a natural barrier around the African country.

_"Almost like a vacation," Steve'd said, shrugging his shoulders when Natasha had pinned him with a look. "What?"_

_"Are you_ trying _to jinx us?" came Bucky's voice, throwing his bag over his shoulder, nothing inside but a few changes of clothes and his sci-fi paperbacks._

_"Steve Rogers, tempting fate," Natasha'd agreed, sharing a smirk with Bucky, "you think he'd know better."_

_"Are you kidding? The punk's never stopped spitting in fate's eye."_

_"A flaw in all that perfection," she'd mused._

_"Makes me feel marginally better about myself."_

_"Are you guys done?" Steve had asked with good-natured, an affable smile on his face as he'd reached down and grabbed Natasha's bag before heading out the door._

The cabin was everything Shuri had assured them it'd be. The lush mountain trees left an aroma in the air and they'd all taken deep breaths, all of them realizing that Steve's comment _hadn't_ been him tempting fate after all, that it really _did_ feel like some kind of vacation. The large windows let the light stream in, exotic bird calls and songs waking them up in the morning and cooing as they fell asleep. It was quiet, and restful, and after everything that had happened, they were all ready to relax for a few days without worrying about the rug being swept out from beneath their feet.

The trip to the lake had been Bucky's idea, reminiscing about summer days back home in Brooklyn when the fire hydrants had been turned on and the city’s youth being allowed to gather around the spray, one of the only reprieves from the heat that blanketed the brick buildings. She'd been fine on the shore, content to watch the boys as they climbed trees next to the waterhole and jumped from increasingly taller heights. She should have known better, though, slowly beginning to realize how bad of an influence Steve and Bucky were on each other.

It'd only taken them a few minutes before they decided that her _not_ being in the water with them wasn't an option. Natasha could have fought them off, and she _knew_ if she'd really told them to stop that they would have done so without question, but it was nice to shirk the sense of duty and alarm that almost always made her shoulders stiff with tension. They were in one of the safest places on Earth, with no one else around them for miles. If there was ever a time and place to give into more childish activities, it was here.

The lake was cool, not _cold_ , but being dumped in it unceremoniously had still been a shock to the system. She'd come up sputtering, brushing soaked hair out of her eyes, glaring at the men who were laughing uproariously. Natasha's hands dug into the water, crawling toward Steve, intent on making him pay. His shout of alarm when she tackled him backward was delicious and she took a deep breath as they fell. It only took a few seconds before she was able to locate Bucky's legs, taking hold of his ankle and pulling him under water, too. 

Eventually, though, she'd made her way out of the water, leaving the boys in the lake as she laid on a towel, drying herself in the late afternoon sun. It'd been quiet, the sounds of the jungle and water only broken by the men's conversation, low and full of laughter. When the evening bugs began to chirp, Natasha turned her head toward the lake, ready to ask the boys if they were ready to go back and find something for dinner. Her voice had failed her, though, when Steve had climbed out of the water.

The blond was only wearing a pair of black shorts, every glorious inch of his skin glistening, rivulets of water cascading down his arms and legs. Even with the serum, he'd managed to maintain what amounted to a swimmers body. Steve’s back and arms were incredible, each muscle defined, lean and toned and incredibly strong. His chest was wide, the lift and dips of his abs like a beautiful landscape, all leading to a waist that looked incredibly tiny. He wasn't delicate looking in any way, but he looked like the marble statues that graced every good museum. Perfection, in every sense of the word.

When Steve moved closer, enough that she'd have to move her head if she wanted to stare at him any longer, her gaze flicked behind him, to the man who was still in the water. Bucky was looking at Steve's back, a look of naked attraction on his face. Natasha watched his eyes pour over Steve's body, an expression of bare desire in the storm grey of his eyes, and she knew it mirrored the one she'd been wearing not more than a few seconds ago. Bucky's lips parted, his chest still, as if he was holding his breath. She felt an electric current through her body when Bucky's eyes flicked to hers, some kind of spell making them lock gazes, knowing perfectly well that they'd both enjoyed the view.

_Oh._

As Bucky fell backward, his surprised expression and red cheeks disappearing below the water, the air in Natasha's lungs huffed out, brain stumbling over what she'd just witnessed.

She didn't know why it came as such a shock. The signs had been there from the beginning. The ease and familiarity in how they touched, glances that lingered and smiles that seemed to make the other light up. Natasha had spent _years_ listening to Steve talk about Bucky. Bucky, the bravest soldier he'd ever known. Bucky, best friend and the person who'd bailed him out of more back alley fights than he could count. Bucky, who'd been everything Steve'd wanted to be, stalwart and proud and confident. There was no question Steve Rogers loved Bucky Barnes. Absolutely no doubt how much Bucky Barnes meant to him.

Maybe she'd been too blind, worried about her own history with Bucky and how to keep it from tearing everything apart, that she'd not realized that there was more between the men than just childhood stories and shared life experience. It'd been right there, on Bucky's face, as he'd looked at Steve. Natasha's eyes strayed up Steve's body, searching for something in his face, looking for a hint of what she'd just seen on Bucky's face reflected in him.

When Steve realized Natasha was staring at him, he gave her a smile, drying himself with a towel. "You sure you don't want to get in one more time?"

Whatever confirmation she'd been looking for wasn't there, or wasn't there _then_ , and she blinked up at him, unable to keep her own appreciation for his body out of her eyes. "I'm sure," Natasha rasped, a corner of her mouth turning up at the knowing look in his eyes. She tore her gaze from Steve as she heard Bucky begin to climb out of the water, noting that he was studiously avoiding looking in her direction.

"Anyone have any ideas for dinner?" Steve frowned when neither Bucky or Natasha responded, busying themselves with gathering their things. He'd enjoyed their lazy afternoon, time that hadn't been filled with tension or stress or the threat of something bad happening. Suddenly, though, a cloud of anxiety seemed to have settled over them. His eyes followed both of them as they turned toward the trail that led back to the cabin, a least ten feet between them as they traversed the path. He slipped a shirt over his shoulders, following after them, feeling like he'd missed something.

When Bucky had taken an opportunity after dinner to walk the jungle that surrounded the cabin and lake, Steve had sought out Natasha, finding her laying in the tall grass behind the building. She had her book in hand, about the young detective adventurer and his quest for knowledge, and he frowned softly. After months of living with her, of _being_ with her, Steve knew she would fall back into that book like it was some kind of safety blanket.

He’d felt everyone’s fraying emotions through dinner and the quietness as they’d cleaned up. Bucky and Natasha had washed dishes side by side, moving like a well-oiled machine, but it hadn’t been the only robotic-like behavior. Steve had always prided himself on the ability to decipher and understand tiny changes in his environment, and the meteoric shift in both Natasha and Bucky had left him more than a little confused. They’d been getting along so well that Steve had started to take for granted that the three of them had been working as a seamless unit.

He saw Natasha’s body tighten when he neared, his frown only deepening. Since she’d arrived in Wakanda, Natasha had been the most relaxed he’d seen her. Ever. That something had caused the easy tranquility to fade away made him worried. “How is Detective Brown fairing today?” he asked, watching her green eyes flick up to him, carefully replacing his frown with a small smile.

Natasha watched Steve take a seat next to her, his lean fingers reaching out to pull at a long blade of grass. “He’s always got everything under control,” she answered, closing the pages. She knew Steve Rogers, and the Steve Rogers who’d sat next to her was full of tension, some heavy thought behind those cornflower blue eyes. “Barnes?”

It had been a while since Natasha had called Bucky anything other than _James_ , and it forced his eyes to swing back to her, seeing the thread of tension in the thinness of her lips. “Went for a walk.”

Digesting his explanation, Natasha turned back to look at the grass. It was high enough that she couldn’t seen the horizon, surrounded by a field of green blades that were swaying softly in the breeze. “It’s nice out here. Quiet.”

Steve nodded, looking over at her. “Don’t get much of that back home.” The word _home_ hung in the air, both of them thinking of the compound in upstate New York, not the Wakandan capital and the rooms they’d been allowed to use in the palace.

“It’s only a matter of time before Tony gets us cleared, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve said, attention at the shredded pieces of green he had in his hands. He knew Tony would be working hard, even after everything that had happened. He wasn’t sure how it would be when they got back, the team fractured and spread across the globe, and the uncertainty of it turned his stomach with anxiety. He felt partly to blame for what had happened, and knowing he was one of the reasons Natasha couldn’t see Clint and his kids and anyone else that mattered to her weighed heavy. “I’ve started to figure out that home is the people you surround yourself with.”

His words were pretty, and Natasha’s eyes slid toward him, seeing the soft knit in his eyebrows, the semi-guilty look on his face. “I’ve only ever had a handful of places I felt comfortable. Even fewer people.”

“You make the people around you better, Nat.” When her expression didn’t change, when those green eyes of hers stared into his, Steve reached out and grabbed her hand. “I don’t know what I would have done without you here. And after Bucky woke? Seeing you two get along, seeing you make him smile? It’s amazing. _You’re_ amazing.”

Natasha knew what he was going to do before she saw his muscles tense with it, her heart stopping in her chest as he neared. His lips were soft when they pressed against hers, his skin stained with the smell of cedar and whatever shampoo he and James shared. It was easy to melt against him when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close.

Steve rolled them so he could lay his body on top of hers, his hands ghosting down her sides, tipping Natasha’s head so he could deepen the kiss, showing her with delicate actions what having her here meant to him. Her soft little moan sped his heart, swallowing the next sound that broke free, a sound of his own filling the air when she hooked a leg around his hips, her heel digging into his calf, pulling him closer.

When Steve’s hiss of _Natasha_ filtered to her ears, she went still. It took Steve a second to realize something had changed and when he pulled back his eyes searched hers for some kind of explanation. “Nat?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pushing on his arms until she could sit up. Steve gave her enough room, taking a seat in the grass, looking at her in confusion. Natasha could feel the steel walls he’d been able to break through slam closed, pushing her ache behind the metal, knowing what she needed to do but dreading it at the same time. “I can’t do this anymore.”

The confusion in Steve’s eyes grew at her words. “Did I do something?”

The worry in Steve’s words, like he’d done something that had hurt her in some way, only made Natasha’s affection for him swell. It felt more and more bitter on her tongue as the words fell from her lips. “Steve… I can’t do that, not now that I know.”

Steve’s head ticked to the side, blue eyes heavy. “Now that you know what?”

“Steve,” she rasped, wishing her words had been less harsh.

“... I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Steve, come on.”

“Nat -”

“James loves you.”

She saw her words hit Steve like a punch in the gut, watching the air huff out of his lungs, a mask of denial falling over his face. He blinked heavily, what looked like humor lighting his eyes only to be chased by uncertainty. Natasha watched him look up at her, looking for the first sign that this was a joke and she was having him on. When her expression didn’t change, he shook his head. She knew this was going to hurt, but making a clean break meant it’d be easier to set with minimal damage. Natasha knew that from personal experience.

“That’s not… he doesn’t… we don’t…”

“Oh god, Steve, please tell me you’re not this naive. You really haven’t seen the way he looks at you?”

The shock rippling through Steve’s mind was thick and the small, nervous laugh that left his mouth held no humor. “Nat, he’s my best friend. We grew up together. We’re not.. I don’t…”

Natasha frowned as he tried to play the knowledge off, like it was a ridiculous notion. “I thought we didn’t lie to each other,” she said, playing up the disappointment in her voice. It was easier to latch on that emotion since she was feeling it for herself just as thick.

“I’m not lying,” Steve said, shifting where he was seated on the ground, needing to move his arms, which felt impossibly heavy. “Bucky and I haven’t… I mean, we’ve never -”

“Maybe you’re not lying to _me_ , but you’re lying to yourself. Your entire life has been chasing after that man. You’ve crossed literal oceans to find him.”

Steve felt her words in his chest, each syllable hitting like a brick. He and Bucky were best friends. He couldn’t remember a time when Bucky hadn’t been a part of his life. Even after Steve had thought Bucky was gone, everything he’d done had been in order to take down the people responsible. Bucky was his best friend. There was no part of him that Bucky didn’t know. He would have known. Wouldn’t he have known? _Shouldn’t_ he have known?

“...if Bucky _feels_ things, for me, he’s never said anything.”

His brain was trying to string together two knotted pieces of thread, too short to circle, too thick to wrap his fingers around. Bucky had been with girls in the past. He’d never been with a man, as far as Steve knew. And _Steve’d_ never been with a man, either. If Steve was attracted to men, why had he never looked at another man and been attracted to them? 

Steve looked up at Natasha, his eyes oscillating between fear and hurt. If what she was saying was true, what did that mean? Had he gone an entire lifetime with Bucky and not seen this? Had he been purposefully ignoring any signals Bucky had given him? Bucky was his best friend, one of his _only_ friends. He’d grown up idolizing him. Bucky had been his entire world.

… but he’d been jealous. Steve had been jealous when he shouldn’t have; the string of girls that Bucky had spent his time with, the one-offs and the girlfriends, the nights he’d come home smelling of smoke and perfume, crawling between the sheets of their bed. By the morning, the proof that he’d been anywhere but at Steve’s side had faded to nothing and everything was alright again. Bucky was home. Bucky was home with him.

The weight of realization pressed against Steve’s mind, a barrage of thoughts and half-remembered truths that he’d pushed aside for too long because he’d refused to look at them for what they really meant under everything else.

Swallowing hard, Steve looked up at Natasha. The expression on her face was so carefully calm, the only tell he could see was the way she kept focusing on one of his eyes and then the other, shifting her gaze, only taking in one blue depth at a time. She was beautiful, and kind, and the weeks he’d been with her had been amazing. Putting aside the multitude of feelings and uncertainties with Bucky, the woman in front of him was important, and her thinking she wasn’t was _not_ acceptable. She had to know. She _had_ to know.

“Natasha, the time I’ve spent with you… it wasn’t nothing. I’ve wanted you, I _want_ you.”

“I know. I feel it, too. But compared to James? To what you’ve been to each other? I can’t do that. I can’t stand in the way of something like that.”

“You’re not in the way. Even if… even if there _is_ something between me and Buck, that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings for you.”

Natasha could see it in his eyes, the desire to make everyone happy, even in a situation where someone was bound to get hurt. She’d already mourned James’ loss once, she’d live through it a second time. Losing Steve would gut her, but he’d be happy, and that’s all she’s ever wanted for the man who showed her kindness when others would have turned away.

“You always hold yourself back, Steve. You did it with me. You’re doing it now with James. You think that you’re not allowed to be happy. I love -” Natasha watched the word as it lit into Steve’s eyes, desperate to make what she’d just said go away, “I mean, I love how you put your heart into everything you do.” It had been a hard recovery, but she pushed on. “Your heart’s been his from the beginning, whether you knew it or not.”

Steve stared into her eyes, watching as she shut down little by little. Her micro expressions were smoothing, shielding herself away, until there was nothing but the mask of an agent, the one he’d first met years ago. She was pulling back everything that had happened between them and it hurt him more than he could explain. He felt like he was in the middle of a war, the chaos and turmoil in his body like a battle, unable to swallow everything that had just been revealed. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” he said, his voice small and uncertain.

Her heart was breaking, Steve’s whisper pulling her undone, and Natasha had to force herself to hold into the quiet part of the soul, the part that had learned the Red Room’s lessons and knew that love was childish and impossible for people like her. “I know,” she said, “I’m sorry, but this thing, with me and you, it can’t happen anymore. I’m still your friend Steve, I will _always_ be your friend, but this…”

Natasha climbed to her feet, giving him a small smile. “We should head back to the palace in the morning. I’ll be ready to go at dawn.”

Steve’s eyes followed her as she hesitated for a moment then turned her back, pushing through the grass and toward the cabin. The birds singing nearby suddenly sounded piercing and the breeze did nothing to cool the heat that had climbed into his body. His thoughts tumbled, feeling it all. Every brush of skin and lingering glance. He’d thought he’d known what Bucky meant to him but nothing seemed certain anymore.

He had to talk to Bucky, he had to know for sure, but wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He’d never analyzed his feelings for Bucky before. What Steve had always felt was friendly appreciation for his best friend was suddenly cast in a new light, something bright and glaring and how had he not realized any of this before? 

He’d always felt like he wasn’t worthy of Bucky’s friendship. He’d never understood why he’d spent so much time with a sick, scrawny kid who didn’t know how to live without causing trouble. After he’d saved Bucky and the rest of the 107th, when his best friend saw him for the first time after the serum, he’d feared that Bucky wouldn’t want to follow him into battle, that he’d become something he wasn’t. Suddenly he was hit with the idea that he didn’t know his best friend as well as he thought he did.

The sun was almost through its travel to the west, a burning brilliant orange as it sunk toward the horizon. The air was still sticky, but there was a breeze ruffling through the trees that hinted at a cooler night. Bucky'd taken his journey in the jungle to deaden his mind of it's swirling chaos. He'd become too comfortable around Steve and Natasha, and it'd burned him. He knew Natasha had seen the look on his face as his eyes had followed Steve's climb from the lake, the desire and attraction naked and bare on his face. He'd expected his cheeks to boil the water when he'd fallen back, still able to feel the heat in his skin when he thought back.

Bucky couldn't fully explain the things that had been running through brain with everything that had happened. He had two lifetimes of memories stored inside, and they were in a constant struggle, a war that threatened to tear him apart, bloody and bruised. His childhood growing up with Steve, the recollection of his time overseas with the 107th, the months he'd spent at Natasha's side as James Bogdanow... everything seemed like a mess that he couldn't sort. It was too large, too hard to wrap his head around.

He'd felt more relaxed over the past months than he'd ever felt before, and he knew it had to do with the two people that'd taken up a majority of his life. Steve, with his kind blue eyes and giant heart, the best friend who'd been able to break though Hydra's programming with just a simple call of his name. Natasha, copper hair and emerald eyes, who'd always been so careful, whose laughter still rang through his ears like music. What was he supposed to do? It hadn't taken Bucky long to figure out that there was something going on between the two of them, a shift in their relationship that meant something _more_. 

It was easy to ignore his own feelings when it came to Steve. Bucky had been tempering his affection for the blond soldier his entire life, so real and large that it was hard to put into words. His feelings for Natasha were more complicated, seeing as the foundation they'd been built on was cracked and decayed. It didn't _change_ them, or make them less than what they were, but it means that when Bucky sought answers, they were harder to grasp. The thought of Steve and Natasha filled him with an ache he felt all the way to his bones, while at the same time filling him with guilt that filled his mouth with bitterness. 

Bucky knew what he had to do, that he needed to extricate him from the situation, but it was more challenging than he thought it'd be. He was finally starting to feel like himself again, and now he was going to separate himself from the very things helping him heal. He could see how much Natasha cared for Steve, and that the feeling was mutual. All Bucky could think, once pushing the pain of being left behind aside, was that he wanted them both to be happy, that they _deserved_ to be happy, and that he wouldn't be able to stand in the way.

When Bucky made it to the clearing the wooden cabin sat in, he saw Steve sitting on one of the front steps. A memory as clear as crystal flashed through Bucky's mind, remembering how Steve would be waiting for them on the front stoop outside of their apartment, waiting to ask Bucky how his day went, always greeting him with a smile. Even when it'd been too hot, or too cold, and despite Bucky's insistence that he was going to catch his death. It'd been a soft admonishment, but Bucky had _always_ worried about Steve's well-being over his own, not certain what he'd have done if he'd lost Steve.

Steve looked up as Bucky neared, his back straightening. He tried to keep the crush of emotions off his face, but he could see Bucky's steps falter, hesitance in his expression. Bucky came to stand in front of him, arms held tense at his side, fingers curled softly but not fisted. Bucky looked at him for a long moment, apparently not willing to start the conversation. "Bucky."

It was just his name but as it fell from Steve's lips, it felt just like that first time, on that street, when that one word had pulled him back into himself. He wanted to shield himself from this conversation, wanted desperately to avoid having to hear what he already knew. Once Steve and Natasha returned to the states, Bucky would be on his own again, and his path would once again be dark and uncertain. "Steve."

There was a sense of trepidation in Bucky's voice, a apprehensive dread that had filled his grey eyes, and Steve wanted to wipe the look from his face. He wasn't sure how they were supposed to have this talk, how to do it without both of them shutting down. He tried remembering that Bucky was his best friend, that they'd been side by side for as long as he remembered, and he could talk to the man about _anything_. Quickly on the heels of that thought, though, was the knowledge that there was apparently _plenty_ that he hadn't spoken with Bucky about. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, using it to center himself.

"I spoke with Natasha today," he said, watching Bucky go impossibly still at his words.

"What did you talk about?" Bucky asked, voice carefully even despite the skip his heart had taken.

"She said a lot of things." It was clear Bucky was still waiting for more information, so Steve ran a hand over his face, fingers scratching through the honey strands of his beard. "She left. Said she'd be ready to go back in the morning."

Bucky moved on reflex, hating the confusion in Steve's eyes. He crossed to the step and sat at Steve's right side. He left enough room that they weren't touching, but he could still feel the heat from Steve's body. "Did you two have a fight?"

The small laugh that shook Steve's chest was hollow, wondering if that's what had really happen. It wasn't, though. It was something completely different. "Not exactly," he managed to say, staring at the dirt a few feet in front of them.

That didn't give him much to go on, but the tension in Steve's body was enough to suss out that whatever had happened was weighing heavily on Steve's shoulders. "Whatever was said, you should go after her."

"Not sure I know what I'd say."

"You can't let her shut herself down, Steve. Once those walls go up, they'll be too high to climb. You gotta get to her first, push past what she was trained to do when things go wrong." 

Bucky knew he'd said to much the second the words hit the air. He saw Steve look sharply in his direction, forgetting how good Steve was at reading between the lines, how quick his mind could connect stray thoughts into an entire narrative. He'd done it his entire life, always keenly aware what other people were feeling before they'd figured it out themselves. At least, _most_ of the time. There were a few things Steve had always been able to overlook.

"How would you know what Natasha was trained to do?" Steve watched the wheels turn in Bucky's eyes, the other man's lips parting as his breath left him slowly.

"It's not my story to tell."

"Are you a part of the story?" he asked, continuing to look at Bucky even though he studiously avoided Steve's gaze.

"Yes."

"Tell me your part, then." When Bucky said nothing, Steve reached out and put his hand on Bucky's knee. Steve had never felt any awkwardness at the idea of touching Bucky, not with their history. They'd slept in the same bed and shared the same space for so long that it was like second nature. Now though, knowing what he knew, it felt more important. When Bucky let out a sigh, Steve could see the worry begin to color his best friend's grey eyes.

"When Hydra had me, when I was the soldier, I was given a mission. Was given the memories of an entirely different life. The deepest undercover. The Red Room, the organization that trained Natalia," he saw Steve's head tilt in his peripheral at the name he'd used, "they needed to teach her a lesson. _The_ lesson. Her heart was a liability, just something that would get her hurt and killed. I began training her, and over time we grew close. Things shifted into something more."

Steve's gaze went back to the dirt, attempting to make sense of what Bucky was telling him. Whenever Natasha had spoken about her training it'd always been in vague terms, never giving too much information. At first he'd thought it was because she was ashamed of what she'd done, but over time he'd started to realize it was because it was too hard on her to remember the abuse that'd shaped her childhood. "They used you to trick her."

"I didn't know. It was just supposed to be a new layer of programming, but I felt everything like it was real. I _was_ James Bogdanow. The feelings that grew, how I felt for her... it was real. I felt it."

Bucky's hollow, pained voice drew Steve's gaze, able to hear the truth of his statement. He could tell it wasn't the end of the story, feeling it's incompleteness in the air. "What happened?"

"One day, I picked up the phone and a series of words were said in my ear. Everything faded away. _I_ faded away. I forgot everything that had happened over the past year. I grabbed my weapons and left. I never even looked back. I wasn't James anymore, I was just the Soldier. They told her I'd been killed. She hunted down the man they said was responsible and killed him."

The breath in Steve's lungs passed his lips, trying to imagine what that must have been like for her. "You remembered all this?"

"I remember it now. She helped me fill in some of the pieces. She didn't know the Soldier was me until you did."

"She lost you, just like I did."

"In a way."

"I didn't know," Steve said, directing his sorrow filled eyes toward Bucky.

Bucky looked over at Steve, seeing the pain and regret in the brilliant blue of Steve's eyes. "Of course you didn’t. How could you?"

Steve's eyes darted away, guilt heating his cheeks. "Natasha and I... we've, I mean, the two of us..."

The small chuckle felt out of place but made Bucky feel marginally better. Steve's awkwardness when it came to matters of the heart was incredibly endearing, and Bucky couldn't help the smile that turned his lips. "I know. I mean, it didn't take me long to figure it out. You've never been able to hide your feelings that well."

"Apparently I'm oblivious when it comes to my feelings."

Pushing back the pain, knowing that this was the best opportunity to remove himself from the situation, Bucky reached up and gripped Steve's shoulder. "Just tell her how you feel. Say it plainly. You don’t need big words, you just have to make her feel it."

"She told me that you're in love with me."

Bucky felt the blood in his veins turn to ice and his heart stop beating in his chest as his face fell. He knew Natasha had seen the look on his face at the lake, but he'd assumed the only logical move would be for him to assure her he had no plan to act on his desires, letting her know that Steve was hers. He'd never anticipated that she'd tell Steve about the unrequited feelings he held. He felt the panic rise in his chest, wondering if this was the time he'd lose Steve for good.

"And she told me that I'm in love you with." Steve watched the disbelief rocket into Bucky's eyes, widening softly, mouth parting in shock. He continued to look at Steve like he was waiting for a punch to come, as if he expected some kind of wound to appear at any second. "I've never... I didn't know, Buck. You're my best friend. I never considered -"

"I know. I know, Steve," Bucky said, pushing quickly and cutting the other man off, "we don't have to -"

"I thought I knew you better than anyone," Steve said, watching Bucky's arm fall to his side, his eyes darkening, like a storm that threatened. "Is it true?" 

Steve knew the answer already, having replayed so many memories over in his mind, looking or any hints or signs. They were there, of course, but Steve had been too blind to read them for what they were. Bucky had been by his side, even when it would have been better for Bucky to associate himself with someone who could measure up to his impossible charm and charisma, someone who _matched_ him, was his equal. It had never made sense to Steve why Bucky had continued their friendship. He knew now, and it filled him with so much he could barely swallow past it.

Bucky's tongue felt dry, his hand shaking as he looked at Steve, knowing his face said everything he wasn't able to speak. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Steve asked, trying to understand the fear that was thick in the air.

"I never said anything. I wasn't sure..." Bucky tried to get his thoughts in a straight line so he could make Steve understand that he didn't expect anything in return. "I know you've never... you don't like that... type... of person." Speaking in riddles was not what he'd wanted, but he found words were fleeing from his mind and he couldn't hold on to any.

Steve nodded, keeping his eyes on Bucky. He didn't want there to be any miscommunication, not with something this important. "I don't _not_ ," he said, trying to explain the soul searching he'd been doing since the revelation, "there's never been someone to consider like that."

"I know," Bucky said, pushing through, certain Steve was being kind because he didn't know how else to be. The thought that this would change their friendship had turned into a ball of terror that became lodged in his throat. "I understand."

"Do you? Because I don't." 

Steve felt the weight of Bucky's eyes when they swung to look at him. He’d spent the better part of the afternoon and evening trying to figure out the chaos of emotions inside his chest. After all of his contemplation - the glaring memories and desires he’d held for his best friend when they were younger but hadn’t really understood, the way Bucky could touch his heart like no one else, how he held his breath when he’d seen Bucky in his uniform that first time - he’d realized that there was a _lot_ of things he’d not considered before. "No, I've never felt those type of feelings for a man, but I've only ever felt like that with -"

"With women. I know. That's why I didn't say anything. You don't have to explain yourself. I get it."

Steve frowned. That _wasn’t_ what he’d meant, not at all. “Buck -"

Bucky climbed to his feet, turning back to see Steve's brow knit in confusion. Fingers curling into a fists at his side, desperately wanting to be somewhere else until he could deaden his feelings so they could go back to the way things were, Bucky nodded at his best friend, wondering if that moniker would still be accurate when the light of morning made things shine in all their truth. "Steve, I know. It's fine. I'm going to go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Bucky -" Steve stood, reaching out for Bucky's arm, hand falling uselessly to his side when Bucky moved out of reach and pushed through the door to the cabin. He wanted to chase after Bucky, to tell him that this was all just new and he needed time to gather his feelings, but he'd seen the fight-or-flight in the other soldier's eyes and knew it would only make things worse. He sat back on the step, staring toward the ground, even more confused then he'd been before.


	4. Take Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are revealed.

_This good enough._  
_Am I good enough,_  
_For you to love me too?_  
_So take care what you ask of me_  
_'Cause I can't say no_  


The cabin was quiet. Natasha hadn't slept at all, the soft breeze through the trees and the calls of jungle wildlife carrying her through the night. Her stomach had been in knots since she'd spoken with Steve the day prior. She'd called Clint and asked to speak with Laura, needing to hear the kindergarten teacher's voice, something that had always seemed to calm her. She knew it was one of the reasons Clint had fallen for the woman in the first place, and Clint didn't go anywhere Natasha wouldn't follow. It's possible Laura hadn't known what she was signing up for when she'd met Clint and embarked on their life together, but if she was uncomfortable with the idea of Natasha and Clint coming as a set, she'd lied to two of the best spies in the world and not gotten caught.

Laura had listened, never making Natasha feel like her thoughts were wrong, always assuring Natasha that everything she was feeling was valid. Laura had ended their call by asking a few questions, and they'd stuck in Natasha's head all night long.

_"Did you love James?"_

_Natasha frowned, hating that word, her mind immediately minimizing the emotion she'd felt. "He was my first."_

_"And Steve? Do you love him?"_

_"He's one of the best men I know."_

_"I didn't ask if you thought Steve Rogers was a good man. I asked if you **love** him."_

_"Is there a difference?"_

_She could practically hear Laura's exasperated expression through the phone. "You know there is, Tash."_

_"They have a history, Laur. They grew up together. I can't get in the middle of that."_

_"You already **are** in the middle of it. Besides, you have a history with **both** of them. You grew up with Bucky, too."_

_"It's not the same," Natasha said, shaking her head to the empty room. She heard Laura take a deep breath, a creak sounding as the other woman took a seat on her bed._

_"You loved him."_

_"A lifetime ago."_

_"James loved Steve **and** you a lifetime ago. You love James **and** Steve. Steve loves -"_

_"Steve doesn't know what he loves." Laura went silent at the tone in Natasha's voice. “You should have seen his face. He acted like loving Bucky was…”_

_“Acted like it was what?”_

_“He acted like it was a surprise. Like he hadn’t spent his entire life loving James.” Laura was quiet on the other side of the line, her even breathing the only sound. Natasha sat there, waiting for words of wisdom from the woman she respected more than anyone else. “Laur?”_

_“I’m trying to decide how mean I need to be.”_

_“You’re never mean.”_

_“Good, then listen up. You have no right to judge someone for not realizing they have feelings for someone.” At Natasha’s noise of offense, Laura’s tone took on the slightest bit of hardness. “The first person you ever loved was taken from you and your immediate action was to close your heart off from anyone else. When you met Clint you both thought it was something it wasn’t, and while I love hearing the hilarious stories of you two trying to date, it’s just proof that you don’t really understand the way your heart works. You met Steve and you respected him, then he was your friend, and before you knew it, something you hadn’t felt since you were a girl was thumping in your chest when you looked at him. It scared you. And you **let** it scare you.”_

_“Love is terrifying.”_

_“And you act like it’s a death sentence.”_

_“It usually is.”_

_“Tash, listen to me closely, okay? You are an amazing woman. You push people away so you don’t get hurt. You’re cautious because you have a history of people punishing you by taking away the things you love. The only issue here is that now you’re doing it to **yourself**.”_

_Natasha sighed, looking down at her feet, taking in a deep breath. “What am I supposed to do?”_

_“Let yourself be vulnerable,” Laura said, her voice a soft whisper. “Don’t immediately push Steve and James away. Cards are going to fall where they fall, but opening your heart is always a calculated risk.”_

_“What if I lose it all?”_

_“What if you **don’t?** ”_

Natasha had ended the call by telling Laura to give her love to the kids, and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what she needed to do. Her mind kept going back to the look on James’ face as his eyes had tracked Steve coming out of the lake. She recognized it instantly, because she was sure the same look had been on her face. More than that, Natasha had seen the look on Steve’s face when she’d said that he loved James. Yes, there’d been disbelief, but she’d seen that spark of realization in the cornflower blue of Steve’s eyes. He might not have understood what it was, but at her words, _something_ had clicked in Steve.

She didn’t have it in her to come between that. They had an entire life of memories. Even if it took Steve awhile to realize his own feelings for James, they were there, and Natasha wouldn't let herself be the reason they didn't find the happiness they deserved.

Natasha opened the door to her room, her need to use the bathroom winning out over her self-enforced isolation. When the sun rose, she knew they'd be packing up to head back to the palace. From there, she wasn't sure where she'd go. Her name was still on a wanted list, so visiting Clint, Laura, and the kids wasn't an option. She supposed it didn't matter where she was, it just mattered where she _wasn't_.

On the way back to her room, she froze when she heard the creek of a floorboard, glancing over to see someone standing at the end of the hall in the dark. She could tell it was James by the width of his body, Steve's waist being narrower, his thighs not as thick as James'. She stood there in the darkness, knowing James could see her. Somehow, maybe in the way he was holding his breath, or the stillness of his hand, Natasha _knew_ he'd spoken with Steve. There was a hesitation in his person, something that pulled at her, the uncertainty ringing through her chest as well.

They moved at the same time, closing the distance, both coming to a stop in the middle of the hall. The night was quiet, and the darkness that surrounded them felt like a heavy blanket, the weight on both their shoulders. Natasha looked up at him, eyes sliding over his expression, trying to decipher it like she’d been able to so many years ago. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, wanting to reach out and curl her hair around his finger. “We go back, I pack up and leave.”

Natasha frowned. “Why?”

“So you and Steve -”

“There is no ‘me and Steve’.”

“What are you -”

Both of them turned when the front door opened and closed, their bodies immediately alert. Bucky lifted his hand, fingers moving silently. Natasha nodded at his suggestion, following him down the hall toward the sound, feeling deja vu. She’d followed his lead so easily that it felt like second nature. She somersaulted across the threshold to the living room, pulling the knife out of its sheath on her thigh, gripping it in her hand, ready to throw it.

“Steve?” Bucky’s hand, holding a blade that had been a second away from singing through the air and finding its target, dropped to his side when the moonlight left a silhouette of his best friend in the doorway.

“Good. You’re both awake.” Steve watched them shed their battlestances, Natasha rising to her feet as Bucky placed his blade back into its hidden place on his person. “I need to talk to both of you.”

Natasha wasn’t sure she was ready yet, hoping she’d get a few more hours to prepare herself for the soft letdown Steve would no doubt give her. She had absolutely no doubts how the soldier felt about his best friend, and it’d only be a matter of time until he realized her words were true. “We don’t have to -”

“Yes, Nat. Yeah we do.” It was beautiful to watch both of them react in tandem. Steve’s eyes followed the squaring of their shoulders, the way they both seemed to close the steel walls around themselves, their faces smoothing as they readied themselves for the blow they were certain was coming. Knowing what he did now, Steve could see it for the elegance it was, for the history it spoke to.

Steve took a step closer to the two of them, forming an uneven triangle, wanting to see their faces in the darkness, the moonlight the only illumination. Their eyes looked darker, but steady, and Steve took a deep breath. He’d spent the last several hours figuring out his own feelings, his own heart, and after all the soul searching, he’d come to the only certainty about the entire situation: Steve wasn’t going to let them leave without hearing what he had to say.

“I nearly destroyed everything before, with the team,” Steve started, “because I was too scared to communicate. I was afraid of how the truth would hurt my friend, so I said nothing. It was the wrong call, and I realize that now. I can’t do that again. I won’t.”

Bucky knew Steve was referring to not telling Stark about what had happened to the man’s parents, and he felt the familiar stab of guilt at being the entire reason behind it all. “Steve -”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Steve’s words stopped Bucky, the other man’s mouth falling closed as he continued. “I wish I could say that all this came out of nowhere, but that’d be a lie. I’ve ignored my feelings, explained them away by pretending things aren’t the way they are, but that’s not true. The mission’s always come first, my feelings be damned. It was always about my duty, my responsibilities, until _you_ ,” he finished, holding Bucky’s gaze, unflinching.

“Buck, you’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I’ve always felt…” Steve struggled to find the right way to explain himself. “... a pull toward your orbit. Finding you? Getting to be at your side again? It means everything.”

Bucky watched Steve with his heart in his throat, every word from Steve’s mouth like gospel.

“When Natasha said that you loved me, I didn’t understand. The way I feel about you is the way I’ve _always_ felt about you. What she said made me look back, made me question what I thought I knew. And she was right.” Steve followed the shock as it rocketed into Bucky’s expression, his best friend’s lips parting in surprise. “If I could go back, if we could start over, I’d see what was underneath everything, I’d _understand_ what it meant. It tears me apart that I didn’t realize it sooner. I’ve never… You’re the only man I’ve ever looked at and _felt_ this way about.”

Steve sighed, hands resting on his hips as he looked down at his feet, choosing his words carefully. He wanted no miscommunication, nothing that could be read anyway except exactly how he wanted it. His gaze flicked back up to Bucky, taking a steadying breath before diving headfirst. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand what I was feeling, Buck. It’s always been you. Just you.”

Natasha watched both men as Steve’s words hung in the air, feeling each one like a stab of ice in her chest. She tried to remember what Laura had said, but everything had been replaced with white noise, the numbness that came so easily to her. She felt like she was intruding, just like she knew she would, and Natasha wanted desperately to be anywhere else, to run from the pain she was feeling.

When Natasha shifted, Steve’s eyes swung toward her, the woman freezing under the weight of his gaze. “Nat -”

“I should go,” she said, shaking her head, feeling James’ eyes as they landed on her as well. Natasha swallowed past the lump in her throat, screaming at her feet to move but finding herself stuck still.

“Please don’t,” Steve said, his voice low, eyes softening the longer her looked at the expression on her face. She was inches away from despair, and he knew her well enough to see it telegraphed in the emerald of her eyes. She’d always been so good at hiding her feelings, but Steve had seen that over the years they’d come to know each other, when she trusted someone, it was written so clearly in her eyes.

Natasha had gone quiet, and Steve knew he had to choose his next words carefully, scared that saying the wrong thing would make her run away, too far for him to ever catch her.

“You once told me that my heart has been his since the beginning, before I even realized it,” Steve started, seeing the ghost of their conversation yesterday coloring her expression, inches away from fleeing, “but I think there’s enough room in my heart for both of you.” She’d gone still, a stillness so complete that Steve suspected she’d stopped breathing all together. “I have no idea what I’m doing, but I _do_ know that.”

The breath Natasha’d been holding passed her lips silently, memories of their life before filling Bucky with knowledge, knowing she was trying to process the shock that was pinging through her body. Natasha’s default reaction was usually so much quicker, acting out of impulse, but the words coming from Steve were so heavy, so weighted with consequence, that it took longer for their impact to land.

Feeling like he was second away from losing her, Steve took a step closer to both of them. “Buck, what does _Мое солнце_ mean?”

Bucky swallowed hard at Steve’s question, the question filling him with awareness and understanding. A memory from before, when he’d been _James_ , floated to the surface. Natalia had always called him ‘my moon’. It made perfect sense that she’d call Steve the opposite. “My sun,” Bucky answered, “it means _my sun_.”

Steve kept his eyes steady on Natasha, unwilling to look away, desperate for her to believe what he was saying. “How can you call me your sun but try to hide yourself? My feelings for you are the same as they were before I realized how Bucky felt, or how I felt about him. I’m not going to pretend they’re not there anymore. I want you,” he said, certainty in his tone, “just like I’ve always wanted you.”

He felt like he was being pulled in both of their directions, stretched thin, but having both of their eyes on him made Steve flood with warmth. He wanted them both, and even if he had no idea if it would work, if it _could_ work, he’d regret not saying these words, the result be damned. Steve turned back to Bucky, blue eyes so full he felt like they’d burst. “Bucky, I thought what I felt for you was just friendship, something everyone feels, but it’s not. Maybe I haven’t had that long to figure everything out, but I know I want you at my side. I’m happier when you’re there. That grin of yours has always made my knees knock, I just didn’t realize why. Thinking of… _being_ … with you... I do. I want it. I want you. I might need a little help.”

Bucky couldn’t help the small smirk that turned his lips as Steve’s comment, at the soft pink that flushed into his cheeks, marveling at how a grown man could still blush and how incredibly sexy it was. “I can teach you a thing or two.” When Steve’s mouth parted, Bucky itched to kiss Steve like he’d always dreamed, but something kept him from moving. His grey eyes slid to Natasha, the woman looking at Steve like she didn’t know what to say. “ _Natalia._ ”

Natasha’s heart skipped a beat, emerald gaze flicking toward Bucky when her name fell from his lips. There was a heaviness in his expression, some kind of understanding that was beyond her. “I don’t -”

“Steve was my first love,” Bucky said, aware of Steve’s stare in his peripheral vision, “but you were my second.”

“Don’t go,” Steve pleaded, his eyes pinning her. “I don’t know how or if this will work, but I want to find out. I want both of you, and I know I’ll regret it if I don’t show you both how much you mean to me.”

There was a heft in the air, like someone was holding their breath. Natasha felt the keen instinct to run, knowing that this could go wrong, that she could get hurt, that this might break something she desperately needed. Despite the fear ringing through her body, her feet didn’t move. She stayed still, the only thing she was able to do. She didn’t run, but she didn’t accept it yet, either.

The fact that Natasha was still there meant everything to Steve and he closed the distance between them, coming to stand in front of her, to rest his hands on her shoulders. He could see her heart beating beneath the skin of her neck, her pupils blown wide as she took in breath and let it out. “Stay,” Steve breathed, seeing the thoughts racing behind her eyes.

Natasha nodded, the movement almost imperceptible, too scared to use her voice, unsure it would have come out if she’d tried. Her eyes followed Steve as he crossed toward Bucky, standing in front of the other man.

Bucky could see the uncertainty on Steve’s face, the way Steve’s eyes slid over his face like he was overwhelmed by the view, like he was seeing it all for the first time. “Are you sure?” Bucky asked, feeling his pulse in his throat as he realized that once this happened there was no turning back.

“Absolutely not, but when has that ever stopped me?”

The smirk that grew on Bucky’s lips the longer he looked at Steve felt good, familiar, and he reached out to squeeze Steve’s shoulder, a thrill going up his spine. “You always were a punk,” Bucky said, heartbeat _whooshing_ in his ears as he did what he’d always wanted. He pulled Steve toward him, fingers brushing over his cheek before he closed the distance between their mouths. Steve’s lips were soft, his breath warm, and a feeling of satisfaction crashed in Bucky’s chest as he did something he’d wanted to do since they were children and he’d realized he was in love with his best friend.

If he’d frozen at first, Steve pushed through it quickly, meeting Bucky’s exuberance with a tamer version of his own. He’d only kissed a handful of people and this kiss mattered _so much_ that he felt the importance as he tried to keep up. Steve had seen Bucky kiss girls before when they’d grown up, but this was something else entirely. He felt like Bucky was discovering him, his tongue pressing experimentally, humming with the _feel_ of it. He could feel the hair on Bucky’s face rub against his own, the texture forcing goosebumps over his skin.

Natasha watched the two men kiss, expecting to feel jealousy curl in her stomach. It wasn’t there, though. As their lips moved against each other, Steve and Bucky’s hands roaming over skin, Natasha’s heart only beat harder. She knew how overwhelming James’ kisses could be, and seeing them turn someone else dumb made her feel better that it hadn’t just been her teenage-self coloring their time together poetically.

She stopped moving when she realized she’d been taking steps toward them, not remembering consciously deciding she needed to be closer, surprised that she’d done it by instinct. Steve had said he’d always been pulled toward James’ orbit, and Natasha understood the comment keenly. From the first time she’d seen _either_ of them, she’d been gone. It felt stupid to deny it now, when her body _ached_ to be with them like it did.

When Bucky pulled back, Steve panted for air, heart racing, eyes closed. He blinked slowly, focusing on the man in front of him, trying to breath past the heaviness in his chest and the thump of desire that pulsed in his body. Bucky’s lips had been strong, his bottom lip full, and while the kiss was different than any he’d had before, it’d been _perfect_. “Buck,” he gasped, looking into the storm-grey of his best friend’s eyes. “ _Buck_.”

“I know,” Bucky said breathlessly, leaning to rest his forehead against Steve’s, trying to catch his breath. His knees felt weak, the satisfaction at having _finally_ getting to kiss Steve making him feel like he was floating, like he was outside of his own body. He couldn’t help the small dart forward, a second-long quick press of lips, like he’d needed verification that this wasn’t just a dream like so many other kisses had ended up being.

It wasn’t. Steve was warm, and _there_ , and sharing the same space as they both adjusted to the giant change that had just taken place. Movement at the edge of his vision made Bucky’s face turn toward Natasha, seeing the bared desire in her movements and feeling it travel up his spine, the hair on his neck rising with knowledge. The look on her face was something like awe, and it solidified in Bucky’s chest the longer he stared.

In all his memories, after everything Hydra had put him through, Natasha had been the only bright spot, the only light in all that darkness. Not everything the Soldier’s hands had touched turned to dust and death, and the woman blinking at him was the proof. “Natalia,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

Bucky’s voice forced Steve’s eyes open, his gaze sliding toward his left to look at Natasha. She was close, within reach, and her expression tightened something low in Steve’s stomach, wanting to draw her into his arms, into _their_ arms. His arm lifted and he mirrored Bucky’s gesture, open hand waiting for her to decide if this was what she really wanted.

Natasha looked back and forth between them, feeling no pressure from either men. If she’d felt like her hand was being forced, she knew she would have rebelled on principle, but it wasn’t there. This was _her_ decision, _her_ choice, and that, more than anything else, meant everything.

She was getting to choose who she gave her heart to this time, and for once, she wasn’t scared about it being treated callously. She trusted Steve more than anyone else, and Natasha _knew_ he would never make her feel pain, not if he could help it. And James… What had happened to them might have been tinted by darkness, but this was them - _just them_ \- deciding to focus on the light.

When Natasha’s hands reached up to take theirs, her fingers trembling, Bucky pulled her closer, pressing his lips to hers before she could speak, wanting to remind himself how _good_ she had always felt against him. The memories might be new, but his body responded to hers like it always had, his tongue swiping along her bottom lip before curling into her mouth.

Steve watched Bucky and Natasha kiss from inches away, the sight freezing the air in his lungs. He knew his body was reacting to the kiss he’d just had with Bucky, the flip of his stomach at that thought making his knees weak, but seeing Bucky’s lips work at Natasha’s… a sound fell from his lips that he’d never made before, the thread of desire in his body going taut, not sure how to explain the feeling that filled him. Even though it felt like this desire for Bucky was new, something in him had always felt _that way_ toward his best friend, he’d just not realized that’s what _it_ was. His body reacted to the vision before him, pulse racing as he just _watched_ , breath ragged.

It was like no time had passed, that all the pain and darkness that had come after James evaporated, replaced with nothing but the warmth of his skin and the taste of him in her mouth. It had been _so long_ , she’d mourned the loss of him for _years_ , and the noise that fell from Natasha’s lips was filled with the shock that she was getting this again, that he was _alive_ , and _here_.

Bucky wasn’t sure how to filter through the sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. The past month had been more than he’d ever imagined. He was finally - _finally_ \- free from Hydra’s influence. He had started to feel more and more like himself, like he’d been before war and ruin had stolen him away. He’d reunited with his best friend, the feelings he’d held for the other man being brought to light, and instead of the rejection he’d always feared, there’d been incredibly, impossibly, the truth that the desire was mutual.

That alone was enough to flip his world on its axis, but there was more. By some miracle of fate, or time, or some other enthusiastic destiny, he was pressed against the only other person who’d ever shared his heart with Steve. Bucky put it all into his lips, needing Natasha to know how much this meant to him.

Natasha pulled away when oxygen became an issue, her eyes staying closed, doing her best to stay upright. There weren’t a lot of things that could tear her apart so utterly, but two of them were right there, their warmth fanning against her skin, their breathing just as heavy as hers. She blinked, hooded eyes looking back and forth between the two men. She knew what she _wanted_ to come next, but this was all so new that she was afraid to ruin it all and have it stolen away. She was usually happy to take the lead in these situations, but she found herself shy, as unbelievable as that sounded. She was suddenly that naive eighteen-year-old again, blinking up at the person she loved, scared to make the next move.

Bucky had been ready to open his mouth, to urge them forward, but Steve beat him to it. Steve wrapped an arm around Natasha’s shoulders, his other hand ghosting down her side and under her ass, lifting until her legs hooked over his hips. He drove them until her back hit the wall in the hallway, feeding hungrily at her lips.

Steve’s body knew Natasha’s, knew what it took to make her gasp his name, knew how to press _just right_ so that her nails scratched down his back and she bucked against him. The want that was like a cloud around them grew thicker when she kissed him back, whatever reservations she’d had erased by the way he kissed her. The sound that fell from Steve’s lips when Bucky molded against his back was filthy, unsurprised by how perfectly his best friend fit against him.

Reaching around Steve’s body, Bucky gripped Natasha’s thigh, fingers digging into her flesh. It was nothing to brush down her leg, following the path where she and Steve met, nails digging softly into Steve’s abs and scratching downward. This was new for his best friend and Bucky was aware that they needed to take this slowly, not wanting to push too far too fast. He kissed the back of Steve’s neck until he could set his teeth into the junction where Steve’s neck met his shoulder, feeling the shudder that ran through the other man’s body.

Feeling like he was on fire, Steve bucked against Natasha, the feeling of her pressed against his front and Bucky at his back overwhelming in the best way possible. He was hard, the friction of his sleep pants just this side of uncomfortable, longing to feel their skin sliding against his. When Natasha lowered herself from his waist, Steve turned in the circle of her arms and toward Bucky, seeking his best friend’s lips again, gasping when Bucky’s hand reached between their bodies and wrapped around him through the thin fabric.

The weight of Steve in his hand made Bucky’s mouth go dry, the real thing better than any dream he could have ever had. Despite this all being new to him, Steve seemed to know what he wanted, pressing himself against Bucky’s hand, a shiver chasing up his spine when he squeezed softly. “ _Steve_...”

Natasha’s lips trailed down Steve’s back, grabbing the hem of his tee and pulling on it, happy to help lift it and throw it aside. His skin was so warm against hers, the tank she wore giving her plenty to press against. When he reached behind him with one hand, tugging her closer, she shifted so she was at his side, pressing her mouth against his shoulder, feeling the muscles work under his skin.

Steve felt like he was being pulled apart, spread thin and taut, tasting his desire on the back of his tongue, touch-drunk. He was past the point of being embarrassed, too focused to be awkward, and though he wasn’t sure if what he was doing was right, he took the initiative, pushing on Bucky’s chest, making the other man walk backward toward one of the bedrooms.

The three of them made it through the doorway, the gasping laughter as Bucky fell back on the bed breaking the silence, some of the built-up tension releasing. This was so outside of his comfort zone that Steve knew he should have felt more clumsy, and he _did_ feel that, but he was with Bucky and Natasha, the two people who knew him better than anyone. He knew they would help him get through this without embarrassing himself too badly.

Watching Steve crawl onto the bed next to Bucky was incredibly erotic, and Natasha couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped past her lips as they kissed. She stood at the end of the bed, watching their bodies come together, Bucky’s dark hair and Steve’s light. Moon and Sun. She’d thought about them like that forever, and now, _finally_ , she understood why.

The smirk that turned Bucky’s lips felt right, Steve’s hands fumbling at the hem of his t-shirt. He rolled them in one fluid motion, holding himself above Steve, looking down at his best friend’s widened gaze, his pupils so wide there was only the thinnest ring of blue around them. The small, heated grin on Steve’s face made his chest thump with affection, turning darker when Steve’s head lifted to capture his lips again. Bucky kissed him, fingers tangling in the honey-strands of Steve’s hair, tugging softly, earning a soft gasp.

Tearing his mouth away from Steve’s was hard, but Bucky managed it, his lips blazing a trail down the side of Steve’s neck then further, tongue dipping into the divot of his clavicle. It was Steve’s hand fisting in Bucky’s hair that forced a low growl from the older man, Bucky’s grey gaze rolling up to pin Steve with a dangerous look.

Steve’s pulse raced faster at the expression on Bucky’s face, a promise of something in all that storm, the threat of losing control like a whisper on the air. When Bucky returned to his task, his tongue circling Steve’s belly button, Steve’s eyes rolled back, his head falling against the bed. He gave into the feel of Bucky’s mouth, hand gripping the blanket below him, his hips unconsciously pumping up against Bucky’s body.

His eyes snapped open when he heard a moan to his right, head turning to look at Natasha where she stood at the side of the bed. One of her hands had slipped past the waistband of her shorts, fingers brushing over herself, her other pressed against her chest, eyes hooded as she watched. Steve wasn’t sure how he’d ever catch his breath if they both continued to do what they were doing, burning him at both ends, and his hand reached out toward her, wanting her on the bed with them.

Natasha went to Steve willingly, crawling onto the bed next to them, catching Bucky’s eyes before he returned his attention to Steve, his lips moving further and further south. Her breath caught in her throat when Steve pulled her hand to his mouth, lips wrapping around the fingers she'd touched herself with, tongue lapping. His happy hum made things clench low in her body, Natasha’s eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

Steve’s hand trailed up her arm and into the hair at the nape of her neck, tangling there before pulling her down. Her lips were always so soft, so open for him, and Steve curled his tongue into her mouth, wanting to lose himself in her taste and the feel of Bucky’s mouth against his skin. When Bucky’s fingers hooked into the band of his pants, Steve’s gasp was swallowed by Natasha, hand tightening in her hair.

Bucky pulled Steve’s pants down inch by inch, revealing more and more skin. Steve’s cock rested against his lower stomach, hard and throbbing with each beat of his heart. Bucky felt moved to tears with the beauty of it all, not sure what to do when something so perfect was spread out below him, not sure he’d ever been good enough to earn it. “Fuck,” he said, his voice breathless.

Natasha and Steve broke apart, turning their gazes toward Bucky as he sat back on the bed, awe on his face as he looked back and forth between them. The emotions were there in Bucky’s expression, painted with vivid technicolor. For a moment the three of them shared that quietness, each of them unsure what path had lead them to that moment but grateful that it had.

“Come here,” Natasha said, breaking the silence, crooking her finger at Bucky. He moved slowly, arms holding him above Steve, happily accepting when she deepened the kiss. Bucky cried out when he felt Steve’s lips against his chest, so warm and perfect, another moan hissing free when Steve’s tongue circled his nipple before drawing it between his teeth.

Bucky pulled back from Natasha, knowing he must have looked ragged, his eyes wide and mouth parted, starved and hungry. She blinked at him, a small smile curling a corner of her mouth before she turned her attention down to Steve, gaze softening at the look on his face. She placed a finger below his chin and tipped his mouth toward her, stealing his lips with her own.

Returning his attention to Steve, Bucky continued his mission from before, his mouth sliding over soft skin, nipping and biting every few inches, feeling the shaky exhales and inhales as he found a sensitive spot. His chin bumped against Steve's cock and Steve almost jumped off the bed. It took Natasha’s hands on his chest and Bucky’s grip on his hip to hold him still. The strangled cry from Steve when Bucky’s lips wrapped around his swollen tip was like music, the prettiest song Bucky had ever heard.

When Bucky’s tongue circled him, spreading the wetness so he could take Steve deeper, Steve’s hands sought some kind of anchor, needing something to keep him grounded. Natasha was there, gripping his hands with her own, stretching them above his head and holding strong. His eyes were wide as they stared up at her, feeling like he was going to fly out of his skin.

She followed everything as it raced across Steve’s face. Desire. Hunger. Frenzy. Each new gasp felt like a direct vibration against her body, each moan almost forcing one of her own. When Steve’s head fell back against the bed, his eyes screwing shut, she took the opportunity to watch Bucky. He moved with precision, throat working to take Steve deeper, tongue lapping, cheeks hollowing. When Steve’s hips pumped up into his mouth, Bucky took it greedily, sitting back on his knees so he could wrap his fingers around the base, bringing his lips to meet them then rising, over and over, until Steve was desperate.

“Fuck, Bucky, Jesus, fuck,” Steve babbled, head lifting so he could watch Bucky work him over. There was something beautiful in the way he moved, confident but quiet, lingering when he found a spot that made Steve gasp, repeating it again and committing it to memory. Steve wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted to tangle his hands in Bucky’s hair but Natasha held him still. He knew he could have broken her hold, but the strength she gave him was one of the only things keeping him from falling apart.

Natasha tore her eyes from Bucky, hooded gaze looking down at Steve, recognizing the ache in the cobalt. She lowered her lips to press against his cheek then moved to the shell of his ear. “I can tell you’re close,” she rasped, hearing how affected she was, an airy quality to her tone that was familiar.

Steve nodded, biting his lip to keep from crying out, unable to keep from pumping up into Bucky’s mouth. He could practically taste it, a sweet and heady combination that was thick enough to drown in. His hands tightened in hers, his arms straining as he fought to keep control.

“That’s it,” Natasha whispered, looking down the line of his body, watching the concentration on Bucky’s face as he moved with a singular focus, “just like that.”

The sounds were falling quickly from Steve’s lips, a hum as he tried to draw it out, a sharp exhale of breath when Bucky took him as deep as he could. Bucky pushed past the reflex to gasp for air, relaxing his throat, his eyes watering as he focused. He could hear a soft keening, the sound rumbling through Steve’s chest and traveling into Bucky’s mouth, somehow knowing he was close to falling apart.

One more bob of Bucky’s head and Steve was shouting his name. “ _Oh god_ , Bucky, fuck, I’m coming, oh god, fuck!”

Natasha let out a gasp of her own, desperate to touch herself, throbbing with desire, watching Bucky’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. She could feel the strength in Steve’s hands as they convulsed around hers, the expression on his face one of pure, satisfied release.

Steve felt light-headed as he came back to himself, feeling the solidness of the bed beneath him, drawing in breath after breath as if he’d just run a marathon. Natasha’s hands in his were soft, steady, and he used them as a tether as he landed. He fell from Bucky’s mouth with a sigh, blinking against his heavy eyelids, watching as Bucky sat back on his knees, lifting his thumb to the corner of his mouth and wiping it across his lip.

Natasha’s gasp of ' _fuck_ ' drew Bucky’s gaze and he looked at her, a wildness in the green of her eyes, a craving in their depths he understood completely because he felt it, too. He was already pressed hard behind the waistband of his sleep pants, but the expression on her face made him struggle and shift against the friction. He was already pulled so tight after what he’d just done to Steve that he worried about embarrassing himself, falling apart without her being satisfied, and though it’d been years since they’d had each other, he felt it all crash back over him.

She’d been so young the first time they’d been together, as innocent as someone in the Red Room could be, but Natasha wasn’t eighteen anymore. She crawled across the bed toward Bucky, feeling Steve’s hand trail down her back as she left his side, falling against Bucky like the starved, hungry thing she was. In seconds she’d rid them of their clothes and straddled his hips, knees spread wide, hands on his shoulders.

Bucky wrapped his arms around her shoulders as they kissed, gasping into her mouth when she reached between their bodies, skin warm when she took him in her hand. She drug her thumb across the tip, spreading the wetness that had beaded there, tightening her grip until he hissed and looked up at her.

Natasha froze as she stared at him, her gaze so crowded with thoughts that she missed the first tear as it rolled down her cheek. Bucky’s arm lifted, thumb brushing at the wetness on her skin, eyes softening as her eyes reflected what he was feeling inside. “I know,” he whispered against her lips, resting his forehead against hers, “I know.”

The first hint of pressure was almost too much, too real, and Natasha took in a deep breath and held it as she lowered herself. When he filled her, as close as two people could be, both of them feeling the weight of it, Natasha couldn’t keep the emotion from her face, feeling vulnerable and exposed. Bucky pressed his lips to hers, his own trembling, feeling the reality of the moment in his chest just like it was in hers.

She began slowly, muscles lifting her then dropping in kind, drawing the action out, feeling every delicious stretch and swell, her breathing matching his.

Bucky wrapped his arm around her waist, finding her mouth, drawing her lower lip between his teeth only to soothe it with his tongue, his brow beading with sweat as he focused on the woman in his arms. She was impossibly warm, and wet, and his senses were overwhelmed by the taste and smell of her. “ _Natalia_...”

The sound of that name on his lips urged her faster. Natasha could feel the ache in her muscles as she lifted and lowered, a growing madness coaxing her to move quicker. When Bucky reached between their bodies, thumb brushing over her clit just how she liked, her body convulsed around him, the first flutter forcing a shout from her throat.

Resting his head against the crook of her neck, breathing her in, Bucky continued the motion, focusing on her release. He wanted her to fall before him, wanted to feel her walls shiver around him as she lost control. Natasha had always held herself so carefully that watching it all be ripped away was like poetry, like waves crashing against a beach, a thing of beauty.

“ _James_ ,” she whispered, eyes screwed shut, “ _Я рядом, я так близко, точно так, да!_ ” **(I'm close, I'm so close, exactly, yes.)**

Steve's breath left his chest in a rush when Natasha shouted, her body shuddering as she came. Her hands gripped at Bucky’s back, trying to pull him closer, fingers digging into his skin as she rode her orgasm. When Bucky shifted, wrapping her legs around his waist and pressing her back against the bed, Steve laid down beside them, looking up as Bucky thrust forward, seeking his own release.

The picture of Steve and Natasha laying side by side, their cheeks pink and stained with desire, was almost too much for Bucky. He crashed against Natasha, her knees falling further apart, heel digging into his ass and pulling him closer.

“ _Да, Джеймс, упасть, упасть для меня._ ” **(Yes, James, fall, Fall for me.)**

Steve didn’t know what Natasha was whispering, but the words only made Bucky move faster, until he lifted her hips from the bed and pumped into her, unrelenting. He growled through his teeth, feeling Natasha tremble around him, her eyes widening as an aftershock rocked through her. One final cry of _James_ and he was falling, shouting as he came.

A roll of thunder sounded in the distance, breaking through the silence, the three people on the bed breathing heavily. A breeze cooled the sweat on his back, Bucky’s head hanging between his shoulders as his tongue darted out to lick his dry lips. He shifted, grinning at Natasha’s groan of protest. “Sorry,” Bucky whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead before collapsing next to her on the bed.

Steve swallowed, feeling languid, not sure he’d have been able to move even if he wanted to. A stillness had settled into him, a quietness he felt all the way to his bones. He turned his head, looking at Natasha’s pink cheeks and serene expression, her eyes closed and pointed toward the ceiling. Partially hidden behind her was Bucky, a small, satisfied grin turning his lips, right hand pressed against his chest as it lifted and fell.

Enough time had passed that Steve felt his body react to the sight of them, desire stirring anew. He turned onto his side, holding his head up, hand fisted against his temple. He brushed a hand along Natasha’s side, watching as her eyes opened and she turned her head to look at him. “That was…”

Natasha’s lips curled into a smile, remembering how he’d said something similar the first time they’d ever been together. “Yeah,” she said breathlessly, “yeah it was.” Bucky’s chuckle on her right was matched by Steve on her left, until she was surrounded by deep, knowing laughter. When human physiology demanded it, Natasha cupped herself, sliding toward the end of the bed and making her way into the bathroom.

Bucky’s hand came to rest on the warm spot Natasha had just left, his eyes blinking open to find Steve looking at him, an uncertain look on the blond’s face. There was a hesitation in his best friend’s eyes, an expression of doubt. It clenched Bucky’s heart, made him worry that what they’d just done had been too much too quickly. “Steve?”

“I’m okay, Buck,” Steve said, hearing the threat of worry in the other man’s voice. He _did_ feel a bit anxious, but doubted it was for the reason Bucky assumed. What he’d just seen had been beautiful - two people he loved getting lost in each other - but he worried about what came next. He’d never been good at staying in the moment, always preparing for what laid on the horizon. Everything seemed perfect in the quietness of the cabin but when the sun rose in a few hours, the light would shine on the problems that waited for them back home.

“Your face doesn’t look okay,” Bucky said, frowning softly, reaching out to cup Steve’s cheek.

“Thanks, pal.”

“You know what I meant, punk.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, turning his face into Bucky’s palm, “I know.”

Natasha made her way out of the bathroom, steps faltering when her eyes landed on the two men in the bed, body reacting to the tableau they made. There was a look of worry of Bucky’s face, one of contemplation on Steve’s, and Natasha couldn’t help the flutter of nervousness in her stomach. “Steve?”

She’d said his name almost identically as Bucky, and Steve looked up at her with the same expression. “I’m okay.”

“Is he?” Natasha asked, crawling back into the spot between them, unsurprised when Bucky draped his arm over her stomach and curled against her back so they could both see Steve. It’d been nearly fifteen years, but she and Bucky were already moving around each other like it was second nature. As he’d been instrumental in her training, it made sense. On another level, it spoke to how easily people who’d been together could find that same comfortability with little effort.

“I’m not sure yet,” Bucky answered honesty, chin resting in the junction of her neck and shoulder.

“If you mean am I fine with… everything we just did…” The matching smirks on Bucky and Natasha’s faces were only slightly unnerving, and Steve felt him cheeks heat in response. “I wasn’t lying about wanting you. Wanting this,” he said with a vague gesture in their direction. “But I also wasn’t lying about not knowing what I’m doing.”

“You did a pretty good job.”

“Seemed like you knew what you were doing,” Natasha agreed, _feeling_ the Cheshire-like grin that curled Bucky’s lips.

Realizing he’d never really considered what it’d be like being with _both_ Bucky and Natasha and their enjoyment in making him blush, Steve let out a soft sigh, knowing he was doomed. “I meant not knowing what happens now.”

“Now it’s going to rain,” Natasha said, her words punctuated with another roll of thunder, her eyes darting to look out the window and the dense vegetation outside.

“And after that?”

“The sky’ll clear,” Bucky offered, watching frustration color Steve’s expression when he didn't an acceptable answer from either of them. “I wish I could tell you more, but I’ve been living pretty much day to day for so long that I’ve stopped planning ahead. You can’t plan everything, Steve.”

“I think we’re pretty much proof of that,” Natasha added. When it didn’t seem to satisfy the soldier, she reached out and threaded her fingers with Steve’s, giving him a small smile. “To be honest, I don't know what happens next either. But whatever it was, we’ll handle it, like we always do.”

The longer he looked at the two of them, the harder it was to hold onto his worry. Steve knew Natasha was right, that whatever happened tomorrow would happen and all they could do was deal with it. Knowing he’d have both of them at his side made it easier, made him optimistic in a way he’d never felt before. When the rain began, soft and cool as it fell on the jungle trees, Steve closed the distance between their bodies, arm resting over Natasha so he could feel Bucky, his thumb rubbing circles on the other man’s hip. Feeling more complete than he could remember, Steve let their calm breathing lull him to sleep.

The rain had stopped an hour before, but the smell of petrichor still hung in the air, drops from the higher trees falling to the dirt below. Steve shifted, consciousness slowly pulling him from sleep, going still when he felt a body move against him. Long-lashed eyes blinked open, seeing Natasha's face only inches away. An arm was stretched across her body, warm fingers that flexed against Steve's hip. The birds calling outside the window meant they'd only fallen asleep for a few hours, but he got better sleep in those few hours than he'd gotten in weeks.

Memories began to filter through the haze of sleep, darkening his eyes, heat blossoming in his cheeks. A monumental change had happened between the three of them, something incredible, and Steve waited for the panic or worry to begin setting in. When he stared at Natasha's sleep-calm face and the mop of dark hair just beyond her shoulder, he realized he was feeling nothing but contentment. _Peace_. His chest felt tight to bursting when he realized that the two most important people in his life were there beside him, that they _wanted_ him, and that they wanted to make this work.

Steve knew he should feel different, that he should be struggling with the notion that he was attracted to his best friend, but ever since Natasha had said those words, made him confront the idea that he was _in love_ with Bucky, he'd felt nothing but surprise at how thoroughly he'd suppressed his attraction to the other man. The time and place they'd grown up had a lot to do with his ignorance, but the signs had always been there, he just hadn't allowed himself to explore his complicated feelings. Now, though, the flood gates were open and he wanted to explore _everything_.

He moved as carefully as he could, trying not to disturb Natasha. She made a small noise but then settled into the spot Steve had just left, burying her face deeper into a pillow. Steve pushed softly on Bucky's shoulders, the other man letting out a huff in his sleep before quieting. None of them had put clothes on and Steve was able to spend the time he wanted just _looking_ at Bucky. His eyes followed the line of Bucky's jaw, down his neck and over the jut of muscle near his clavicle. His skin looked so soft that Steve reached out to touch it, running the pad of his finger down the curve of Bucky's shoulder.

Steve's gaze lingered on the scars near Bucky's prosthetic, tracing the lines with his own fingers. When they'd first arrived in Wakanda, before he'd gone back into cryo so Shuri could heal this triggers, Steve had questioned Bucky about the marks and their shape. He'd seen the haunted look in Bucky's eyes when his best friend had explained that when he'd woken up, when Hydra's programming hadn't been complete, he'd tried to claw himself free from the arm, torn at his own skin, desperate and panicking. The fact that there was no more programming in Bucky's head did little to crush the wave of emotion that crested in Steve's chest as he remembered how much Bucky had been through.

Though the scars were hard to look at, Steve knew they were a part of Bucky, a reminder of how far he'd come, how hard he'd _fought_. They were bittersweet, but beautiful. Steve continued pouring over Bucky; the hills and valleys of his abs, the soft line of hair that started just below his belly button and traveled south, the lines near his hips that pointed down to where Bucky was swollen and pressed against his lower stomach. Steve looked at Bucky's cock, mouth going dry the longer he stared. He'd never given another man a second look, but Steve had never _wanted_ another man. He'd only ever wanted Bucky.

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Bucky, the skin incredibly warm and soft in his hand. Bucky was only half hard, but that was fine as Steve didn't really know what he was doing. He ran his thumb over the moisture near Bucky's slit, spreading it, wondering what it tasted like. Steve bent over Bucky, wetting his lips before his tongue brushed experimentally. He felt the second Bucky woke, feeling the other man's body go rigid, the small gasp that tore from his lips. Bucky's hand was suddenly sifting through his hair, forming a fist and holding tight.

The last vestiges of sleep were still falling from Bucky's mind when he'd woken up to a warm mouth wrapping around his cock, tentative lips and a timid tongue. Opening his eyes to see the top of Steve's head, the honey-strands that he'd know anywhere, had been like so many dreams he'd had before. But this wasn't a dream, this was _real_ , and _fuck_ if Steve’s mouth didn't feel absolutely amazing. He loosened his grip on Steve's hair when he realized how hard he was holding, some of the shock fading and being immediately replaced by desire. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, his head falling back against the pillow below his head, eyes fluttering shut.

Steve figured things out quickly, repeating what made Bucky hiss his name through his teeth, tongue flattening against his shaft. He thought about what _he_ liked and did the same to Bucky, hand wrapping around the base of Bucky's cock and bringing his lips down so they met, then starting the whole circuit over again. He cupped Bucky's balls, squeezing softly, wanting to do everything right. He was a fast learner and it wasn't long until Bucky was squirming against the bed, a litany of curses and falling from his lips.

"Oh fuck, Steve, right there, _fuck_ ," Bucky babbled, his head falling back again before he looked to his left. Natasha was there, her green eyes hooded, lips parted as she watched Steve work. When she glanced up at him, it felt like Bucky was drowning, caught between the sight of her and the feel of Steve. It was overwhelming and his senses were firing all at once. When Natasha dipped her head and captured his lips, Bucky kissed her back, humming his desire against her tongue, gasping when Steve's teeth brushed him _just so_.

Waking up to Steve's lips wrapped around Bucky was like being drenched in ice water, surprise pinging through her body before it'd been replaced with an instant overflow of flames. She knew this was Steve's first time, and she kissed Bucky until he was panting before pulling back. She shifted down the bed until she was even with Steve, watching his eyes blink open to look at her. When he let Bucky fall from between his lips, Natasha closed the distance between their mouths, kissing Steve, tongue curling in his mouth.

When Bucky writhed beneath them, she gave Steve a small smirk. Natasha brought a finger to her lips and pushed it into her mouth, wetting it thoroughly before nodding at him. Steve seemed to understand what she wanted, hand lifting to push Bucky's knees further apart. She pressed her finger to Bucky's ass, spreading the wetness, feeling him shudder at the feeling. Natasha glanced up to see Bucky's eyes wide as he looked between them, his mouth open and panting. He nodded at her, the movement a bit desperate, his expression frenzied. She pushed one finger past the ring of muscle, hearing Bucky's hiss of _Natalia_ as she continued to stretch him.

Steve watched Natasha with eyes that were wide, the view of Bucky laid naked in front of him, shivering and shuddering as Natasha worked a finger and out slowly. It was impossibly erotic and he was pressed hard against his own stomach, reaching down to stroke himself softly.

"Keep going," Natasha said, nodding her head at Steve. He lowered his head and took Bucky between his lips again, the two of them working at once to pull Bucky apart. The way Bucky was squirming meant he was close to falling, and she didn't want that to happen yet. She wanted to see Steve taking Bucky, wanted to watch their faces as they came. She added another finger, hearing Bucky's shout, feeling him grind down against her hand as Steve's lips stretched around him. She made sure Bucky was ready then pulled back, seeing Steve pause to glance at her. She was breathing heavy, anticipating what came next. "James, on your knees."

Bucky was all too willing to follow Natasha's orders, shifting until he was on his hands in knees in front of Steve, looking over his shoulder at his best friend. "Like this?"

Steve's heart was pounding in his chest. Looking at Bucky from this angle was filthy and obscene in the best way. The muscles of Bucky's back were long and lean and Steve brushed his hand down Bucky's skin, until he traced the line of Bucky's ass, feeling him shudder. "Buck, you're gorgeous," Steve said, his voice thick, his eyes still drinking it in.

Natasha moved up the bed until she could lay herself below Bucky. His eyes swung to look at her as she settled back against the pillows, propping them up so she could see everything. He grabbed her knees and pulled her body closer, the desire in her gaze matched with his. He glanced over his shoulder at Steve, giving him a sharp nod. "Make me come while I make her," he said, seeing the darkness in Steve's eyes grow. When he felt the first press of Steve's cock against his ass, Bucky moaned, the first stretch making his lids flutter.

He was impossibly tight, but Natasha had worked Bucky over good, and Steve put both hands on Bucky's hips as he continued to press forward. Steve pulled back softly, not all the way out, but just enough to give Bucky a break before he began moving again. When he was in, Bucky's body surrounding him completely, his fingers flexed against flesh, the feeling overwhelming. His eyes fluttered open to see Natasha rolling her nipples as she stared, lips parted and breathing heavy. There was something in her eyes, an expression so deep and intimate that he felt it travel down his spine, making him squirm against Bucky, who in turn writhed back. "Buck," he managed, voice deep, "you feel so fucking good."

Bucky wasn't able to speak, not with Steve buried like he was, toeing the line between pleasure and pain. He blinked at Natasha, seeing her eyes focused over his shoulder, his head dipping and taking a deep breath. She smelled sweet and warm, just like he remembered, and he ran the flat of his tongue through her folds. She shivered, one hand tangling in his hair, the other thrown over her head and gripping the headboard. Bucky shouted when Steve withdrew then snapped his hips forward, nose bumping Natasha's clit and causing her to cry out, too.

They found a rhythm, one that worked for all of them. Steve thrust into Bucky, his fingers digging into the flesh of Bucky's hips, leaving red imprints on the skin. Bucky was pressed hard against his stomach, leaking and swollen as his tongue lapped at Natasha, dipping into her entrance then flicking until she was nothing but a shivering mess beneath him. Her eyes were wide, watching Steve pump in and out of Bucky. When Steve's pace picked up, his strength bruising, Bucky buried his face against Natasha, shouting when Steve hit _that spot_ , wanting to make Natasha fall, wanting to know she was watching Steve fuck him as she came.

The soft curve of Bucky’s shoulders bled into the view of Steve’s face, focus and concentration in his eyes, and every thrust pushed Bucky against her, until she was grinding herself against his mouth, pulled higher and higher with every press of his tongue. She wasn’t far now, feeling the pressure building in the pit of her stomach, her body already shaking and on the precipice. She wanted to wait for Steve, wanted to fall with him, but Natasha wasn’t sure she’d last much longer. “ _Steve_ ,” she rasped, his eyes flicking up to hers, “harder.”

Steve held Natasha’s stare, feeling exposed and vulnerable and so turned on that he could taste it on the back of his tongue. He snapped his hips forward, Bucky crying out, over and over. When he saw her eyes begin to flutter and her fingers tighten their hold on Bucky’s hair, he erased any hesitation, holding back nothing as his body slammed into Bucky, a growl rumbling in his chest as he chased his release.

Even with the feel of Natasha dancing below his tongue and the punishing, incredible way Steve was moving against him, Bucky’s orgasm caught him by surprise, coming when he hadn’t even been touched. He screamed against Natasha, feeling her come, her grip in his hair like iron, her moans like music. Steve was growling, crashing against him, and Bucky could do nothing but hold his breath and take everything he was being given.

Seeing Natasha come and hearing Bucky’s shout was enough to make Steve teeter over the edge, shouting Bucky’s name as he came, the sound ringing in the room. His hips pumped forward, softer now, riding out the rest of his climax, feeling beads of sweat slide down his neck and back. The fringe on his forehead was plastered against his skin, his breathing labored. He collapsed against Bucky’s back, keeping himself upright with a hand against the mattress next to them, attempting to keep his entire weight from crushing Bucky and Natasha.

The small, happy laugh that sounded from Natasha made Bucky’s eyes roll up to look at her. Her eyes were closed, a smile on her lips as she caught her breath. She was beautiful, cheeks pink and jaw relaxed, face clear of any worries or doubt. It made her look Younger. Free. _Satisfied_.

“You boys,” Natasha breathed, blinking her eyes open to look at them. Bucky had a thoughtful look on his face, his lips lifting into a smirk when he saw her. Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s shoulder before he looked up at her, eyes tired but sated, hair damp with sweat. “You need to do that more often.” She laughed at the look they gave her, both of their cheeks heating with more than just release.

Pulling back, Steve collapsed on Natasha’s left while Bucky lowered himself gingerly on her right. The cool morning breeze through the window felt perfect on their sweaty skin, giving them a moment to catch their breaths. When Bucky pressed his lips to her shoulder then slid from the bed, she looked over at Steve, watching his eyes follow Bucky until he disappeared into the bathroom. “You okay?”

Steve let out a burst of air, eyebrows furrowing at the expression Natasha was giving him. “Why do you both keep asking me that?”

“Because we know you,” she breathed, turning onto her side toward him. “The last twenty-four hours have been pretty intense. I just want to make sure you’re still here.”

“I’m here, Nat,” Steve said, reaching out to tug on her hair, seeing the thoughts racing behind her green eyes.

“Big changes are hard.”

“I’ve gotten used to big changes,” he mused, brushing his hands down her side. “Went into a metal tube and grew over a foot. One day it’s the 1940s, next day it’s 2012. Lose a best friend, get him back. One day I’m Captain America, next I’m a fugitive. It might take me a minute, but I figure it out.”

“One day you don’t realize you like guys and the next…” Bucky said, crawling back into bed behind Natasha, giving Steve a smirk over her shoulder. 

“Not sure I like guys, Buck. Pretty sure I just like you.”

“A demi-sexual, then,” Natasha said, grinning softly at the look on Steve’s face. “How modern of you.”

“If you think that’s modern, wait until I tell you what I want to try next.”


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little bit, something to tie it all together before the events of IW happened and all of our hearts broke. I feel like there's more to this story than what was posted here, so I think they'll be a part two to this eventually. Hope you enjoyed everything!

Steve’s smile faltered when he heard a chirping noise. It wasn’t one of the birds outside, but something more mechanical. He held his breath as he rolled from the bed, eyes lighting on his bag. He walked toward it slowly, pulse racing for a different reason than the two people beneath the sheets.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, sitting up, a look of concern on his face. Anxiety and alarm had tightened Steve’s shoulders. He watched Steve dig in his bag, pulling a small black phone from inside. “Steve?”

“It’s Tony,” Steve answered, staring down at the phone in his hand. There was only one person who knew this number, only one person that could be calling. He glanced up at Natasha, seeing the worry flash over her face, the trill of the ringtone loud in the quiet of the dense jungle. His gaze swept back toward Bucky, watching something like resignation climb into his best friend’s eyes.

“There’s only one reason he’s calling,” Bucky said, jaw ticking, feeling the drop in his stomach, knowing there was nothing good on the other side of that call.

Natasha’s phone rang loudly on the nightstand, making all three sets of eyes flick toward it when the familiar refrain of Katy Perry's _Last Friday Night_ sounded from the device. “That’s Clint,” she said, green eyes looking between both men. “Something’s wrong.”

Steve felt the comfort that had settled over the three of them evaporate, reminded that outside the door of the bedroom and the borders of Wakanda, there were still battles needing fought. He wanted to ignore their duty, wanted to stay in the moment, but he felt the responsibility settle over them all. They shared a look of mutual sadness before he flipped the phone open and brought it to his ear. “Tony?”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find/follow all of us:  
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> 


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